


Lakeside

by lettalady



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-24 16:43:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16643921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettalady/pseuds/lettalady
Summary: Tom lives at the lake in the mountains where the memory of his parents is the strongest - the place where they went on their honeymoon, and took their children each summer, and would have lived out their retirement. His sister keeps renting out the old Johnson place, among other lakeside homes, and bringing in these tourists that make such a damn mess. Not to mention the fact that when they break things he’s the one that ends up having to fix them. And Tom? He just wants to be able to throw up a ‘Back in 1 hour’ sign in the window of the bait & tackle shop on their end of the marina and boat over to the only other business nearby, pop open a beer and watch the sunset at his best friend’s bar.





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> with   
>  Tom Hiddleston as Tom  
>  Bryce Dallas Howard as Tori  
>  Sebastian Stan as Gorgon

  


**H** is plans to enjoy what remains of the season that is  _finally_  winding down are delayed, yet again, when his sister rents out the old Johnson place to someone. Two families left and she rents out one of the sites they own for an indeterminate amount of time -  _they were vague on the end date and willing to pay in advance plus extra, Tom._ An additional complication: he still hasn’t finished repairs to that particular dock, left from the previous group that stayed there. They don’t fine the tourists enough when damage occurs, clearly. How the hell people ‘mysteriously lose’ a nailed down piece of wood he’ll never know. 

Apparently Ryan Culler had never stayed on a lake before. Didn’t even rent a boat, which is just  _wrong_ , but then whatever the renters do with their time during their stay is their business... Unless, by fault of property damage, they make it his. His business is making sure that the houses are in working order and the dock, stairs, and rails are all up to code. If they need anything, if they’ve forgotten to pack anything, he and Tori take turns at the bait & tackle shop that also serves as a general store for the inhabitants around the lake, visitors and locals alike. All he asks is that he’s home in time to watch the sunset. Shouldn’t take too long to nail a single board back in place. 

Some would say sunsets were one of the best things about living on the water. Others might claim that sunrises ranked higher. For Tom it was the pace, the peaceful lifestyle that went along with living on the water. No mad rush, no sitting in endless traffic. He tried the city life, decided it wasn’t for him. 

Now his main concern is surviving tourist season. 


	2. Ryan Culler

****

**A** ll things out in the open - his family used to be part of the summer crowd. He used to be one of those tourists he can’t stomach now. That’s what his sister reminds him of every time he rants about having to pick up trash left behind, or the laundry list of repairs needed at the start and close of the season, not to mention when unexpected things pop up in between.  

 _“Might get a little boring around here without new people to get peeved at.”_  - she’s told him, more than once. 

He’s finally thought of a decent reply to try the next time she says it: “ _Quiet. You mean it would be peaceful. And quiet._ ” 

But he suspects Tori’ll keep right on renting out each of the seven properties they manage. The original four were places that their parents purchased and renovated. They’ve acquired three in the ten years they’ve helmed the business. Tori would have it be more, but his twin - fraternal - can be a little zealous.

When you’re the sole handyman on the payroll seven is  _plenty_. 

Of course as he maneuvers into the cove he can see activity on the porch of the house. When the guests wave he’s got to wave back, so says Tori. Then he realizes there’s a problem. The person leaning on the railing is a woman. Culler clearly didn’t read the fine print and invited his girlfriend up to stay. Or Tori didn’t express the importance of listing any and all guests that might be at the property.

Tom exhales, muttering to himself though the engine hides his words.  Now he’s got to sort  _that_ out,  _plus_  see to the repair of the stairs joining the deck to the dock. 

Once he’s close enough he idles the engine and lets the boat slip along, maneuvering so that he can swing around and use the far stall. It doesn’t take him long to dock and gather his things, but he doesn’t rush. Neither, he notes, does she seem too concerned with his presence. The woman hasn’t descended, or even moved from the spot where he first saw her. 

All for the better. No chance she’ll find that missing board the hard way. Plus if she stays there he can just call up to her, tell her to remind her boyfriend to relay  **to Tori**  all necessary information regarding  _all_  visitors, and get the repair done so he’ll be out of the couple’s hair. 

He pauses once he’s close enough to call out to her, just before he’d need to veer off towards the spot where the board is missing. Seems a little odd that Culler hasn’t come out to join her or investigate the sounds of the boat that had approached the property. Not his problem, though. That’s theirs to sort out as a couple. 

“Ma’am,” he tries to sound less annoyed than he feels, “is your boyfriend around?” 

She had been leaning against the deck railing, watching his progress towards the house, but now she stands up. Hard to read her expression at this distance, plus she’s already squinting from the glare of the sun. “Um... no. Why?” 

It takes him a second to realize that she’s on alert. Clearly Culler left her alone at the old Johnson house and now she’s trying to figure out if she’s in danger from the stranger that just appeared. Tom shakes his head, careful to keep his feet still and not move an inch closer. “Please remind Ryan to read the  _entire_  rental agreement and give my sister Tori a call. I’m just --” he holds up the board and the box of tools in turn, “here to make a repair. Shouldn’t take too long.”

She’s slower to relax and resume the stance she’d previously held, leaning forward against the railing. He’s already kneeling down and thinking about how many hits it will take to drive each of the four nails in when she tosses out another question. “Which part of the rental agreement needs revisiting? If you don’t mind my asking?” 

He sets the board in place, rattling the nails around in his hand to get two shifted from the middle of his palm towards his fingers. This is why he doesn’t like Summer People. They think they can swan in and out once they sign the papers to rent a place. 

It takes three swings to get the first nail in. And one false start that he has to rectify before he can get the second nail in place to halfway secure the board. Only then does he look up at her from his position towards the foot of the stairs and provide an answer. “The part where we require an accurate count of all tenants and visitors for each property for the duration of the stay. In case of emergencies. Evacuations et cetera.” 

The remaining two nails take two swings apiece and then his work is done. With the way she’s studying him he feels the need to speak, even if it’s sort of obvious, “That should do it.” For his effort he just gets a nod in return. Alright then.

It’s only once he’s got his back to her, nearly to his boat again that she calls out a final time. “So I’ll give Tori a call. Make sure everything is correct.” 

He can’t help but look back as he steps from the dock back onto his boat. From her tone she sounded a little put out with him and he kind of wants to gloat in that feeling. “Good,” he gives her a curt nod as he replies, enjoying the way she jerks her shoulders slightly in response. 

She doesn’t say anything further, just continues to squint down at him from her perch on high. He only allows himself to smile and loose a little laugh once he’s navigated the boat away from the dock and puttered out towards the cove where he can safely open up the throttle. 

Summer People. Honestly. 

And would you look at that. Just enough time to drop off his tools, snag a quick shower, and catch up with Tori and Gordon for dinner and drinks at The Breakwater. Of course there’s no wait for drinks when you run the place, so it makes sense that Gordon and Tori have a couple of beers already on the table when he arrives. 

He wasn’t entirely sure about having his best friend marry into the family, but if anybody can keep up with Tori it’s Gordon. So far so good. 

Gordon is mid-sip when Tom greets the pair of them and moves to seat himself, but his best friend doesn’t miss the chance to slide Tom a bottle. Tori, however, Tori leans forward over the table and has one of her  _looks_ on her face, “So. I hear you met Ryan. Made an  _impression_.”

Tom slips, only slightly, at her statement. He furrows his eyebrows a fraction. She won’t let him drink before starting up with that? He offers her a shrug, dutifully answering his sister before bringing his drink to his lips. “Met his girlfriend.” 

That face that Tori is making? She adds a bit  _more_  to the expression. He should have quickly swallowed then and there. “You met  _Ry-an,_  Tom.” She elongates their tenant’s given name to make it two syllables, just for emphasis. She can eye-roll with the best of them, almost considering it an art. She sighs as she reaches across the table to rest her hand over Gordon’s free one. “Gordi, what are we going to do with him?” 

Gordon grins, first at his wife and then over at Tom. “Look. We’ve known for a while he’s a little out of practice with women.” 

Tori’s sigh apparently hasn’t found it’s end. “He’s out of practice with  _people_ , Gordon. Of course he’s hopeless with women.” 

“Now, look.” Tom glares at the both of them in turn, “She never said who she was. I just…” 

“Assumed. Making an ass out of yourself.” 

Bless older sisters. Even if only by a few minutes. They never hesitate to put you in your place.


	3. Where the Sun Shines

**T** hey’ve gotten three homes locked up for the season. All repairs done. All inspections signed off. Once he’s finished up with the electrical work in the Lewis’ place they’ll have four! Four sites locked down, only needing cursory inspections throughout the off-season. 

Will they get all seven done before the first cold snap? One of the two remaining vacationing families will be checking out at the end of next week. The other will be leaving the lake at the end of the month. That will get them to six... But all seven? It all depends on how long Ryan Culler decides to stay in the old Johnson place. She’s only been here a week, and Tori said that they had discussed a lengthy stay but not how long, exactly, that would mean... 

He hasn’t gone back, hasn’t attempted to smooth things over after that interesting cursory introduction. And why should he bother? She could have corrected his assumption. Could have, but didn’t. 

Summer People! 

Without even thinking about it Tom moves to the window, looking out across the water towards the old Johnson place. Once he gets this house buttoned up he’ll have one less reason to venture this way. Which is a good thing, really. Culler can keep to herself, he can keep to himself, and everyone will be right where they’re supposed to be. 

He used to enjoy going over to see the Johnsons with his parents. He and Tori would run like maniacs around in the backyard while their parents and the Johnsons talked shop in the shade. They had formulated the idea for the business there, before his parents had decided to move up to the lake, to live there full time. Buy up, renovate, and rent out properties along the lake. Things had gone well for a while, and then the accident happened. The Johnsons had let the twins buy them out not long after. Still lived at the lake but didn’t want to deal with the day-to-day of the business. Definitely didn’t want to be anywhere near where the idea came into being.

Movement breaks his trance. Ryan is out, descending the stairs connecting the house to the dock. Without a boat he halfway wonders where she’s going – unless she plans on swimming there – but then he notices the towel. Getting set up to sunbathe. It’s a good day for it. That’s what he was doing before Tori called and told him to get his ass into gear. He shakes the stern expression from his face, almost adopting a look of approval for a moment… but then he remembers himself and refocuses on the checklist in his hands.

Just a few things more to take care of.

A few things somehow translates to an hour’s worth of work but then he’s finished, finally has checked the last box and is able to lock up. Four houses done! He smiles to himself as he swings the keyring around in his fingers, turning away from the Lewis’ place as he readies to go back to his boat to start heading home. He doesn’t mean to look across the cove to see if she’s still out. He just sort of finds himself glancing over to see if she’s turned into a lobster. Not everyone respects the power of the sun’s rays.

But the lower level of the dock is empty. No Ryan. Has she already gone back in?

There. Movement on the upper level of the – **oh**. He had nearly started walking down the hill towards the Lewis’ dock, but finds that his feet are temporarily unwilling to cooperate. Better than tripping, perhaps.

She’s still sunbathing, alright. Ryan is on the top deck, soaking up the sunshine. Topless.

He only stares at her for a second before blinking himself into motion and quickly turning on his heel. She had been wearing a bright pink bikini top earlier. He’s sure of it.

Ok. Now what. He can’t just stand here staring at the door to the Lewis’ place forever. What about calling out to her? And saying – what – exactly? _Hey, so I know you’re Ryan, now. And by the way I don’t mean this in a creepy way but I see you._

“Anybody that comes this way can see you.”

Tom lifts his eyebrows, finding himself talking to the Lewis’ door. Yeaaa, calling out is so not happening.

He’ll just… he’ll just go on down to the Lewis’ dock – keeping his gaze averted, mostly averted – and make a show of getting the engine running and everything in order. Loading up while specifically looking anywhere but towards the old Johnson place. But loading up what? …. Equipment that needs to be transported back to his place. Yea. That’ll work. He just needs to figure out what equipment to pretend to need.

He’s careful to keep his head turned once he maneuvers out into the waterway, too. She did jump and go for the towel when the engine roared to life, so this should be the first and last time she sunbathes like that. It’s hardly even a consideration to loop Tori into it, because (a) it’ll become another thing she razzes him about – like she needs help in that department – and (b) Ryan will have undoubtedly learned her lesson about topless sunbathing from this experience.

It was the end of the potential for an embarrassing conversation. The following day she was just sitting out on the lawn. Not that he was checking with the hopes of another show. It’s just good business practices, watching out for your tenants. Again, not that he would have veered off course and gone to have a chat with her. He just would have bitten the bullet and gotten Tori involved.

That’s why he doesn’t even blink when he overhears some of the local boys at the end of the week. New entertainment is always something that gets them excited. This time of year it’s usually that one of them has gotten their hands on a stash of fireworks. So long as they don’t get too reckless near any of the properties and make more work for him… Teenagers can’t always be trusted to make the best judgement calls but this group mostly have good heads on their shoulders.

It’s when he catches that same group after the weekend, and they’re still going on at the same level, that his curiosity stirs again. What could have them fixated?

The other shoe drops, so to speak, when one of the McClary boys utters three words: at Johnson’s cove.

Now he’s got no choice but to stick his nose in. But even if he warns them off they’ll keep at it. He remembers being a teenager. Temptation and all that. Which means… it means he’s GOT to talk to Ryan about it, now.

“Alright guys. Fun’s over.” It was like he had run up to the group and shouted _SKATTER._ He hangs onto two of them, though. Tom only maintains the gentle hold of their shoulders long enough to make sure they stay put. Luckily he’d snagged one of the ringleaders, and the younger McClary kid.

“What?! Tom!” one of them squeaks out.

Good. They remember who he is. He’s not just a faceless adult to them.

At least – was it Cory McClary? Or is this the other one? – has enough sense to look slightly sheepish, “Oh, hi Tom. Uuuuuuhhhh.”

“Yea. Hi. So. Seriously. Fun’s over.” He gives each of them a hard stare to make sure he’s being clear. “Leave her be.”

Except maybe these boys don’t have quite as much sense as he first thought, “C’mon, man.”

And bolstered by - he’s  _pretty sure_  he knows which of the boys this is - Cory’s mouth, the other one pipes up: “Yea. She’s not local. What’s it to you?”

Tom crosses his arms, trying to play the part of sensible and put-upon adult. “ _Tourist_ or not. It’s not cool to go peeping on strangers.” Oh that word. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Tourist, not peeping, although – that too…

Warning served to the hooligans he releases them. Absolutely-no-doubt-about-it needs to warn Ryan now. Bringing it up is going to be interesting. He just needs to figure out how to go about it. Should he take something by? Or suck it up and loop Tori in to the whole mess and get her to field this particular problem?

He mulls over his options as he performs a bit of busy work restacking the cans of peas into a more aesthetically pleasing arrangement. He really really doesn’t want to have to tell his sister---

“Excuse me.”

He stops halfway through turning the can in his hands so the label faces forwards. Swallowing, he slowly releases the can and then turns around. Ryan is in his shop. He darts his eyes around quickly before focusing on the woman standing before him again. The McClary boys and their friends are gone.

Tom clears his throat, trying not to adopt his usual scowl and almost succeeding. “Hey.” He can do pleasant. See Tori? He _can_ do pleasant. “I wanted to say….” He pauses, puckering his lips briefly, “about the other day. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

There. That wasn’t so bad. Problem of earlier mistaken identity solved, easy as pie. Half solved. His brain won’t stop conjuring the image of her sunbathing, though. He can already feel the tips of his ears burning. If he just maintains eye contact until she explains what she’s doing here he’ll be ok. Maybe.

The corner of Ryan’s mouth twitches into a smirk and she arcs one eyebrow as she looks up at him. “It happens a lot, honestly. Everyone sees _Ryan Culler, CPA_ on the website and assumes I’m a guy.”

He nods absently as she flashes him a smile, his mind whirling through possibilities on how to bring up the sunbathing problem without putting his foot in his mouth. Tori and Gordon’s conversation is playing back in his head, too. Out of practice with people. Hopeless with women. There’s so much white noise in his head that he can’t shut out that he realizes several beats have passed and Ryan is still waiting for his response, any response, and her smile is starting to fall.

“Um, so what brings you out, Ms. Culler?” There. Even better. He can people! He can be _polite_ , damnit. To women. To everyone.

Her shoulders lift as her smile grows again, biting back a laugh as she shakes her head, “Ryan. Please call me Ryan. And, sunscreen?” She looks away from him, around the interior of the store, “Tori said you have a bit of everything here so I decided to drive over and investigate.”

She drove over. That answers how she got here sans boat, which was a question he’d been mulling over without even really being aware of it. She could have chosen to drive the hour plus into town for a better selection, but curiosity brought her here.

Her conversation with Tori brought her here.

And now his neck is starting to itch. Soon his face will be splotched with patches of scarlet, too. Is it really her mention of his sister that is mingled with the thought that they’ve had a good chat that is doing it, or that she’s curious enough to come _here_ and interact with him again? Damn blushing. Damn your body for betraying your inner thoughts!

Tom coughs, lifting his fist to half cover his mouth and then reaching back to grab his neck. Nothing to see here. The pink is from application of pressure. Nothing else causing it. “Yea. Yea, we’ve got sunscreen. It’s uh…” He glances around quickly before remembering where he is in the store and which direction he needs to move in to find the suntan lotion display. “Over right here.”

“30?”

“What? Yea. Oh. Yea.” He finds the correct SPF and passes it over to her.

Now would be a good time to mention the sunbathing and the fact that even on the second story of the Johnson dock everybody can see everything. A _great_ time to mention it, in fact, but his mouth won’t cooperate – so he’s back to listening to the white noise in his brain while Ryan stands there giving him _this look_ like she’s waiting for something.

“Anything else?”

Ryan holds the sunscreen bottle up between the pair of them, reminding him of its existence. “Just need to pay.”

He nods and leads the way to the counter. Quickly he rings her up, trying to work his mouth into the correct shapes to say the words he wants. Quick, quick! Before the opportunity is missed! His hands are moving on autopilot. Accepting the cash. Flipping open the paper bag. Handing her said paper bag, and the sunscreen held within.

“Uh.” Words. There. “Ryan. Um. The top deck of the Johnson place has a great view but um…” He reaches up and rubs the bridge of his nose with the first knuckle of his pointer finger, “it’s very _visible_.”

Now it’s her turn to start going pink.

He stumbles on, cause there’s nothing to do but keep digging himself deeper into this hole of embarrassment. “And there’s still two families with kids at nearby properties. And the local teens.” Now that he’s gotten his mouth moving he can’t seem to shut it. He hems, trying to redirect his stream of words. “Just wanted to… Even with it being the end of the season, uh, mention it…”

She’s full on fuchsia at this point, and he’s sure his neck and face sport similar splotches of color. “Noted!” Her voice is higher than it was a little while ago. Ryan has a tight grip on her newly purchased sunscreen and can’t seem to maintain eye contact, only able to achieve brief moments of connection – emerald to blue.

Tom ruffles his fingers through his hair before forcing himself to settle and shove his hands into his pockets. The only way to stop his mouth from continuing to try to ramble on is to exhale a long pause, emitting an elongated: ah. He gives a little jump as the screen door **whaps** shut.

Maybe his sister is right. Maye he is hopeless with people.

Ryan stops just after exiting. When she turns back towards the building, towards him, she’s perfectly bathed in sunlight on the deck, the brilliant green hue of the lake shimmering behind her. “Tom?” She waits till he leans over the counter, showing that he’s heard her, dazed as he is by the whole exchange and the way she pronounces his name.

One more word, accompanied by a small nod, and she’s gone: _Thanks._

 


	4. The Week-Ender

**T** om sits contently chowing down on chicken wings, more than happy to help Gordon work on demolishing the pitcher of beer and assorted appetizers spread out on the table between them. It’s a decent turn out for the bi-weekly celebration of **another week survived – happy summer!** , and a great send-off for the Zielinskis. Their departure also means that he’ll be able to get another property secured, checking another thing off his list in terms of off-season preparations. More than enough reason to drink.

He can hear Tori’s laugh wafting in the open windows. Eventually she wants to extend the platform and expand that seating area. She’s had plans drawn and redrawn to try to depict her vision but keeps changing her mind, which is fine. Once she’s gotten it figured out it’ll become ‘a small weekend project for her guys’. Nevermind they have contractors they could call to handle the work… he never should have stubbornly proven he could overhaul his own back deck and then showed it off to her.

“You know you could be neighborly,” Gordon points a yet-to-be-consumed barbeque wing at Tom, “n’ stop by her place.” He snorts when Tom lowers his eyebrows and frowns back across the table, “Or don’t. All I’m saying is it wouldn’t kill you to get to know her.” He tries again after taking a bite, talking around chewing and swallowing. “Might help your brain to stop seeing her atop the Johnson deck.”

Tom glowers at his friend. “Uh-huh. Never should have told you about that.”

It is a response that only encourages Gordon, who waves his partially consumed chicken wing around in a small circle between them, “Butcha did. No take backs.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“ _You’re_ the idiot.” Gordon fires right back, “Tori says that…”

“Please, _please_ don’t quote me relationship advice from my sister.”

His best friend holds up his free hand in a Boy Scout salute, “Swear I wasn’t. They just seem to get along, is all.”

Tom inclines his head, “They get along? Wait, they talk?”

“Yea.”

That sounds ominous. He’s talked to Gordon about Ryan, sure, so it’s an easy jump to assume that Tori knows everything. About that weird ping of jealousy he felt the first moment he saw Ryan and thought she was with someone else. How it probably fueled his mood, his greeting. About the awkwardness of the whole encounter because of his blunt assumptions. About the sunbathing and the mostly successful attempt at being chivalrous that day. And the surprising encounter days later at the shop.

Tom squints down at his mug, trying to figure out if the news that Tori and Ryan are friendly should be sorted into the good column or bad. So according to Gordon they get along? What does that entail? Is Tori just upholding her end of the leaser/ tenant arrangement? Are they talking about things to do at the lake? Ways to pass the time? Things that _have_ happened at the lake?

When he looks up again he finds his friend eyeing him. Then Gordon smiles, “That _all_ you wanna know?”

It’s an open invitation to put his foot in his mouth. His first mistake was ever giving any indication he was _possibly_ even a _little_ attracted to her, both to himself and his friend sitting across from him. _Especially_ Gordon. It was a recipe for, well, this. Exactly this.

The implication is there that he has been the subject of a conversation held between Ryan and Tori. It’s a tempting thing, digging for answers, but is it wise? Sometimes it’s better to wonder, to daydream, rather than have all the possibilities stripped away.

Tom allows the tinge of a smile to pull at one side of his mouth. “Ah… better not.”

Better, too, that he’s never mentioned the delightful daydream that keeps recurring when he’s reclined in one of the deck chairs behind his house. Because in those oasis type dreams he’s just back from a mid-day swim and half-panting in the baking sun, dripping water as he stands there to let his swim trunks dry out a bit. When glances towards the Johnson place – which he knows full-well he can’t see from his front deck but _it’s all in his head, damnit_ – and she’s there leaning on the rail just like she was the first day he saw her, staring right back at him.

Rather than allow his mouth to override his brain and start trying to pull details out of Gordon, Tom refills his mug and takes a gulp. His friend simply shrugs, probably plotting a way to deliver details without being prompted.

“Babe! Look who I found outside.”

Since she was clearly talking to Gordon, Tom halfway ignores his sister and continues draining his glass. Sometimes the fact that they still moon over each other and use overly sweet pet names is annoying, but most days he’s just grateful they found each other.

Gordon lights up, seeing his wife, and sweeps himself up out of his chair. And then -- “Hey Ryan! Glad you could make it out.” Gordon’s greeting makes Tom screw up swallowing and spew a bit of the micro-brew out his nose.

Even as he coughs and snatches one of the paper napkins up off the table to wipe his face and nose Tom can hear Ryan’s reply, “The welcome packet said you should attend one of these at least once during your stay so… Tom? Are you ok?”

Gordon halfway turns to slam his palm into the middle of Tom’s back, giving him two hard thunks to the torso. “He’s fine. He’s fine. Come on. Sit down. We’re about to order another round.”

“Well, _they’re_ about to order another round.” Tori corrects her husband, and a look passes between them.

Tom wordlessly, while still wheezing a bit, offers Ryan his previously untouched water. It’ll do as she peruses the menu, until she can figure out what she wants to order.

“Gordi seems to have forgotten we were _both_ going to try giving up drinking, for a bit.” Tori continues, pinching Gordon’s forearm as they claim their seats again. He does dutifully push his mug of beer aside and grab his water.

No, Gordon, chugging your water won’t make up for the fact you downed half the pitcher, but Tom is still glad of the momentary distraction. It gives him time to catch his breath. Still, when he prompts for an explanation his voice comes slightly rasped. “Oh? Any reason in particular?”

Tori turns in her seat and bounces a bit as she delivers the news, “Yep! He’s going to knock me up.“

Gordon inhales some of his water before coughing into his glass, sending the liquid splashing down his neck, hands, and over the tabletop in close proximity. “Babe.” He croaks, “I _thought_ we were going to break the news gently.”

Tom blinks, suddenly very happy he had put down his drink when he did. Two helpings of beer through his nose and he probably wouldn’t have been able to smell anything else for several days.

After eight years they’re ready to start trying to expand their family. Honestly he thought the news would come sooner, gently or no. Most figured the baby announcement would come in the first few months after the wedding. Nothing wrong with waiting, though. Nothing at all.

He finds himself grinning at the thought of becoming an uncle, even if Tori’s statement had simply been that they had decided to start trying. He falters, unable to figure out if he should propose a toast – of water? Sparkling water? – or just keep on smiling at his sister.

He settles for not remaining mute. And really he should be explaining things to Ryan, so she can share in the announcement too. “That’s – it’s awesome.” He quirks his eyebrows, leaning towards Ryan slightly, “We’ve been waiting, sort of, for them to announce they were going to have a baby. Pretty much ever since she decided that this one,” Tom juts his chin slightly to indicate Gordon, “meant more to her than simply being my best friend… Right after they got married we had a pool going to—”

“Oh!” Tori jumps in, breaking off from the lovey-dovey moment she and Gordon were having, “Yea – that’s right. We win. So, who do we collect from?”

As Tom shakes his head and shifts to retrieve his billfold, Ryan laughs, “But wait. Surely that’s against the rules? I mean, that’s rigging the game.”

“Uh-uh.” Tori snags the several pieces of folded up paper from Tom’s fingers, using them to point at Ryan for emphasis as the table erupts in rapid-fire speech, everyone fighting to make themselves be heard, “Hey now. We earned this. Fair and square. Mostly.” She settles back in her seat, handing the cash off to Gordon while still focusing on Ryan, “Don’t forget who promised to take you out on their boat!”

Tom turns in his chair to better face Ryan, “Don’t listen to her. I’ll take you out on the lake.” He waves his hand over the center of the table to ‘block’ the line of sight between the two women. “Talk to me about a conflict of interest and rigging the game. Help me get my money back.”

 “Oh, you’re not getting this back.” Gordon shakes his head, “Eight years, man. Eight years.”


	5. The Daisy Mae

“Thanks again for this.”

**R** yan was ready and waiting on the deck up by the house in a lounge chair when he turned into the cove. He’d tried not to watch her descend the stairs – helpful that he had to focus a bit on not running into the Johnson’s dock and make more work for himself – but that didn’t stop him from stealing glances as he tied the boat off.

Situational awareness. That’s all it is. Making sure he knows where everyone is at all times. Boating safety 101.

“It’s no problem. Really. Tori was more than happy to man the counter today.” Which is true. Suspiciously true. She had basically shoved him out the door, down the pier, and onto his boat.  

Ryan shakes her head, looking down at her feet and then at him again. “Still. I wasn’t even successful in getting your money back…”

Tom holds out his hand to help steady her as she boards the boat. Probably not necessary but he found himself holding out his hand in offering, twitching his fingers to indicate intent. When she moved to accept his hand? Reach out and touch him? Well, no going back after that.

He releases her once she’s on board, closing his fingers to briefly form a fist before unclenching his hand again. Now what. Now what? He pats his pocket, thrumming his fingers over his thigh before lifting his hand to run his fingers through his hair. “So, um.” He motions towards one of the running benches, “Life jackets are, um, just there. And you can, you can stow your stuff under there, too, if you want?”

She has a bag with her. What he presumes to be sunscreen and whatever else it is that women decide they need to carry around with them at all times. Sunscreen. The corner of his mouth twitches and he suddenly needs to look elsewhere or risk his eyes drifting over her in a way that would definitely derail the day.

He turns to the side, not fully away, giving himself a mental shake. “As for the money, the bet….” Tom shrugs, “Honestly shoulda expected it.”

She’s laughing again. With him, or at him – doesn’t matter. “Mmm. So learning experience? To make you more careful with your money in the future?”

“More careful with my bets. Probably. Maybe. But, right, you’re an…” Deciding it’s safe again, Tom turns back to continue the conversation, surprised at what he finds. She’s halfway into a lifejacket. “Accountan….t. Need a little help?”

It’s a relief, sort of, that she hadn’t been watching him stand there awkwardly staring out at the old Johnson place. No, she had been focused on something else: putting on the life preserver she’s currently halfway-in, halfway-out of. At his tone, she quickly looks up at him to see his smile. She abandons her attempts, letting the lifejacket hang from her shoulder. “You were telling me where they were, just in case. Weren’t you.”

He allows himself a short laugh as he nods, “Yup. Unless you feel more comfortable with it on. Scout’s honor I know what I’m doing. You won’t go in the water unless you want to.”

Ryan returns to the running bench and lifts up the seat to expose the storage hidden beneath, the other life vests and assorted items one may or may not need aboard a boat. She lets the jacket slip down her arm, looking at him sidelong as she returns it to it’s proper place. “Ok, then. On your word we won’t go swimming till we can’t stand the heat of the day anymore.”

 “I promise on Daisy Mae. And that’s a serious thing.” He backsteps to be able to touch the back of the seat facing the driving console, resting his hand on the white leather of the seatback. “She’s the best boat out here…” Tom pauses, inclining his head in question, “Ready to get going? Don’t want to eat up too much of your morning just sitting here.”

He’s fishing, clumsily, to see how long they’ve got. Will there be time to really let her get the full experience? Puttering around closer to the old Johnson place isn’t really getting the full effect of all that Daisy Mae can do, not to mention the beauty of the area, but if she’s got other plans…

“Oh,” Ryan smiles guardedly, moving towards him to claim a seat nearby, “Tori said to bring food? I thought we were making a day of it?”

He wasn’t sure before, if it was just the infectious nature of being around Tori and Gordon’s good humor that had been coloring the whole evening during Gordon’s weekend party. Could have just been that she was enjoying being out with people after having spent so much time alone at the old Johnson place. He’s almost positive, now. Ryan might actually be enjoying his company – and he, hers.

Also? His sister just might be up to something.

That’s not what he wants to focus on, though. Not while he’s supposed to be showing Ryan around. He smiles, splaying his palms out towards her, “Ok. So first…” He pauses his thought, already trying to jump ahead to all the spots he wants to show her. The cove here is great but over towards the McClary’s there is a…

First though, first he needs to cast off the boat. “Stay right there. Ha. Let me grab these lines real quick, and then we can head out.”

Mentally he wants to smack himself in the face. He had been so distracted by entertaining her, or being entertained by her, that he’d all but forgotten the boat was still anchored in place. If he’s not careful he’ll create more work for himself, yet. What with the constant repairs and maintenance needing to be done, no need to add to that pile.

As he coils up the first line he scowls to himself, his expression hidden from her by the way he has his back turned. What is it about her that throws him off so much? It’s not just that she’s a tourist, unfamiliar… Unlike his sister who has never met a stranger, he always has to test the waters, build up to being open with people.

It’s – it’s something else. It’s the way she looks at him, as though she knows his worth and sees what he is doing with his life. She sees the man he is, and the man he should be, and the chasm that exists between.

Once out on the water with the wind rushing past them his nerves settle. She does that somehow – twists him up inside without uttering a single word, with just a steady look. She’s doing it even now, casting glances at him that almost seem a test. Is it her confidence that throws him? Her steadiness? Surely not. He’s been around self-assured women all his life and has not stuttered in his steps. Not like he seems want to do around Ryan.

Ryan, who he is supposed to be touring around the lake at this very moment. He’s forgetting himself again, absorbed in his attempts to figure her out. He slacks off the speed, the engine humming in response, before glancing aside to smile at her – something that is easier and easier to do. Time to be a guide. “So, you’ve been over to The Breakwater, the long way ‘round. But on the water. Well…” He motions off to their left to point out Gordon’s bar, the pier, and the sparsely filled parking lot beyond.

She dutifully turns to look in that direction before nodding and shifting to look at him again, “Much faster.”

“I’ll – um, I’d be happy to give you a ride, for the Weekender next week. If you like?”

As she smiles she reaches up to try to brush her hair back out of her face. With the wind it’s mostly pointless, “I’d like that.”

Her beaming smile is easy to return, and he finds himself wishing, not for the first time, that he could somehow capture that split second of time – the sunlight reflecting off the water, the way her hair shifts in the breeze, and the expression currently on her face.

But indulging himself wasn’t the point of the day. He gives himself another mental shake and reminds himself of the whole reason for their little adventure today. He pushes his focus back to The Breakwater and the bit of land beyond, “So up that hill, beyond the lot, that grassy field? Mid July there’s a charity drive we host with the community emergency response crews. Kind of a mini-fair. But the proceeds help them to maintain their buildings, or get the new equipment upgrades they’ve been eyeing but haven’t exactly got the budget for.”

“Sounds fun. And for a good cause. You put it on every year?”

“We _help_. We sort of…” Tom stops himself, fighting against the crazy urge to lay out his life story for her. She’ll leave again, soon, and that part of his past – of his family’s past – that belongs to family, to him and Tori. He forces his thoughts in a different direction, and a smile onto his face, drawing a laugh from within his chest as he reroutes, “I mean, like we need another reason to throw a party out here during the summer. But all the kids really look forward to it. The sack race and pie contests. We’re all a little competitive… uh, for the cause.”

There. That brief all-seeing expression is gone and she’s back to smiling at him again, the steady study of his soul once again hidden away.

“So.” He clears his throat, taking a half-step back from the console, “Let me get us out of the way and then we’ll let you have a go.”


	6. Three Legged Race

**T** he four of them had settled into the shade, sipping water and watching the ebb and flow of the crowd milling around the open space. It was a perfectly just-this-side-of-sticky-hot day, though that’s no reason to bake in the midday sun. As soon as Ryan had excused herself, disappearing in the direction of The Breakwater to use the facilities, Tom and Tori huddled shoulder to shoulder and began whispering furiously at each other.

Tom gives his head a quick shake in the negative before inclining his head in the direction of his sister again to make sure he doesn’t miss a syllable, seeing as she’s speaking just loud enough for him to hear her over everything else. Tori crosses her arms, her water bottle dangling precariously down from beneath the crook of her left elbow. It’s only her fingertips that have a grip of the bottlecap. “Oh just be happy she’s still here.”

He can’t help but to glance towards the building, the last place Ryan left his sight. How can he explain the problem to his sister and not have her make it ten thousand times worse? How has she not _guessed_? “I _am_ happy that she’s still here, Tor.”

“Really? Cause you’re being a damn stick in the mud.”

Tom bites back everything that immediately calls to be voiced in response to her use of their grandfather’s favorite phrase. He can’t stop the way his mouth twitches, can’t quite catch and still the action, and a grin lights up Tori’s face. It was the very reason she had used the phrase. To get a rise out of him. He refuses to be baited, though. He just folds his arms and leans away from her a bit, moving around on his feet so that the shade provided by the branches overhead dance over his features. She ends up shifting on her feet too. Always has annoyed her when he refuses to tell her something. Said it makes her itchy.

Not quite getting satisfaction, Tori refuses to let that be the end of it. She unfolds her arms, swinging her almost empty water bottle so that it knocks into the side of his arm and emits a hollow – THUNK. “This is my point. Stick in the mud. You talked up the event! Hardly a surprise she stayed.”

“That’s not it. Besides…” He moves in place again, only just altering his stance. Trying to draw himself out of range of her reach would just end with the pair of them circling the tree like a pair of squirrels. “You’re the one that told her about it at the weekender last month. She said so. I just…”

He’d just opened his big mouth when it was just the pair of them out enjoying on Daisy Mae. Ryan had gone from being loosely aware of future events at the lake to saying that from his description of the festival/ fundraiser she definitely wanted to stick around so she could attend.  

Course that wasn’t all of it. Never was a problem before when their clients enjoyed themselves. Ok it was a problem before but for other reasons. It was the whole point of the business, even if he never really wanted to admit it. Get the Summer People to enjoy themselves enough to spend money here. Bolster the local economy for another season.

The problem this time around is that he didn’t keep his distance. He didn’t limit his interactions with the strangers coming to siphon off bits of the community to take home with them, back to their fast-paced lives. The problem that is that Ryan Culler is no longer a stranger to him – that while she’s come to enjoy herself and her stay at the lake, he’s come to enjoy her presence here. _The problem_ is that when he looks at her he gets this feeling that she could fit in here…  Not just here, at the lake … but here, in his life.

He opens his mouth, knowing that the moment he admits it aloud Fate will turn her head towards him again. He is saved from words by a flying bit of foil. A strangled ooof erupts from his mouth when he jerks in reaction, barely catch the foil-wrapped hotdog that had been lobbed at his torso.

Gordon, reappearing with food, for the save. “Heads up! Water’s next!”

Tori turns on her husband, half annoyed at his interference, but also clearly hungry. She holds her free hand out to accept her own meal from him. “And where have you been?”

“Uh, I think that’s obvious? Food doesn’t just collect itself, Babe.” How he’d carried all the food and drink over is a mystery. Still loaded for bear, he hops backward just in case Tori tries to swat at him for his retort, managing to hold onto the lot of it. He grins at her while rerouting towards his friend, all but dumping his armload off on Tom. “Here, man. Hold this.”

Tom scowls but then gives a small internal shrug as he tries to steady the assortment he’s been handed. A save is a save. Maybe the subject can now be dropped in favor of other antics. He smiles, watching Gordon snare Tori and pull her to him, enveloping her in a bear hug. He tunes out their private laughter and shared low words. Allowing them a small bit of privacy he shifts the pile of silver wrappers and bottles in his arms again and turns to look out over the field.

Great turnout, as always, and thus far the weather is holding. Might rain later in the day, just one of those summertime things. Everyone will either clear out or cluster under trees, porches, and tents if it does end up raining. Never does seem to dampen the mood even if it does sometimes mean cleaning mud off of shoes, and clothes. Last year’s sack race had left everyone a sight to behold.

He's already absently smiling at memories when he flicks his attention back towards The Breakwater to find that Ryan has slipped back out into the sunlight and is halfway back to the group. He watches her progress, the careful duck and weave through the others milling about. She’s squinting against the sun, her sunglasses, momentarily forgotten atop her head.

As he blows a light chuckle out through his nose she seems to remember their existence and raises her hand to retrieve them, self-contained laughter lighting up her face. Shields against the sun lowered back into place she starts to shake her head at herself but then stops, stilling entirely in her progress towards him. Even her laugh seems caught on her face, an odd not-quite-smile.

Did she forget something in the restroom? Her phone? Keys? After a second her shoulders jump in an exaggerated shrug before she lifts her hand again to twiddle her fingers in a silent hello.

She caught him watching her.

Sheepish, he nearly starts to lift his hand in return – but remembers his arms are occupied with food and drink just before completing the motion. Everything is sealed or wrapped up, so it wouldn’t have done any harm, other than to his ego. Dropping everything to wave at the pretty girl that has captured his attention – if it had happened neither Tori nor Gordon would have let him hear the end of it.

Ryan isn’t quite into the shade provided by the tree when she speaks, drawing Gordon and Tori out of each other’s arms. “Is it hotter out here? I swear it wasn’t this warm a few minutes ago.”

“Ah,” Gordon swipes a bottle of water out of Tom’s arms along with two of the wrapped-up packages, offering the spoils first to Ryan and then the unclaimed hotdog to Tori. “The curse of air conditioning in the summer.”

“Is this where you tell me it’ll get worse before it gets better?” Ryan scrunches up her nose at the thought, the action half hidden behind the bridge of her darkened glasses.

Gordon lifts his eyebrows at Tom, a pause provided for a quick quip, but Tom merely arcs his eyebrows up in return. Gordon rolls his eyes as he turns towards his wife, only allowing Tom and Tori the view of the action. He’s all smiles again by the time he finishes his rotation, “Mmm.” He hems, “This is worse. Right, Tom? Gets better from here.”

Tom ducks his head, juggling the remainder of the food and water to be able to toss one of each – not entirely gently – at his friend. “Sure.” He nods once, twice, and then switches the motion into a negative shake of his head. “Better.” Tori and Gordon both are trying to herd him into baiting Ryan to stay longer. It’ll only make things harder in the long run. Damn the pair of them.

Ryan takes a sip from her water bottle before emitting a non-committal noise. “Mmm. So, any other highlights for today? I was kind of eyeing Mrs. McClary’s pies to take back.”

“I’d hold off on the pies...”

Tori’s tone is cautious, which immediately sets alarm bells off in Tom’s head. He darts his eyes over at his sister to catch the tail end of a conspiratorial look between the married couple. _Now_ what have they done?

Gordon nods, avoiding looking at Tom for the time being. “Yea. Might need your hands free.”

Ryan shifts her attention from his scheming family to settle her focus on him, expectation clearly written on her face. Helpless, he shrugs. It’s not a conspiracy against her! He doesn’t know anything about what they’re up to, either. He knits his eyebrows together and opens his mouth, dropping his jaw in frustrated lament. He swallows in preparation to speak and defend himself when the loudspeaker crackles to life:

_‘It’s about that time folks! Partners start heading this way for the three-legged race! For a good cause and fun, to boot! And stakes are high, for the standing champs who --- well, don’t they always keep us on our toes? Where are the twins? Anybody see the twins?’_

Tori and Gordon are all smiles, and Gordon shrugs as Tori turns to lead the way towards the largest of the striped tents. “Might’ve taken a detour or two when I was getting food. Making sure of a few things. In terms of who would be participating this year.”

Ryan has already turned to follow on Gordon and Tori’s heels, so Tom is left to bring up the rear. “Three-legged race? Wait. Are the twins – are they talking about you guys?”

She glances back over her shoulder as she finishes the question, not really waiting for Tom’s nod of confirmation. He already knows what has happened, or at least can take an educated guess. If there’s any sort of confusion regarding the race and pairings it can only be because Gordon tried to sign himself up as his wife’s partner. Hadn’t he tried that a few years ago too? It was tradition that the twins ran together. They’d been winning the race, more often than not, since they started participating. Since they took over the family business and started having a hand in hosting the festival they’ve been donating an extra percentage every time they win, too.

Gordon half chuckles under his breath, not quite listening to whatever explanation Tori is feeding Ryan, as he falls into step next to Tom. “She told me to. For the record.”

“Uh-huh.” The words are heavy as they leave his lips. “All to give us a little more time to talk while the pair of you compete? Not at all subtle, man.”

“Compete?” Tom’s attention isn’t really on his friend anymore, he’s only halfway listening to Gordon’s reply. Tori has already made it to the tent, halting before the sign-up booth. She’s shaking her head, alternatively nodding it as she points to Ryan. Tom cocks his head to the side as Gordon continues, “I didn’t try to sign myself up, man. I’m here to watch and hold things.” Tom drags his gaze away from his sister to eyeball Gordon, so he gets a good view of the air quotes accompanying the next thing out of Gordon’s mouth. “Tori said she didn’t want to ‘over-exert’ herself. But said _someone_ had to rep the family. No, man, _Ryan_ ’s gonna compete with you this year.”

 


	7. When It Rains

**S** torms at the lake during the summer can go one of several ways: short-lived things that are light, over in a blink, and forgotten before the day is out – harder, more intense storms that sometimes bring crashes of thunder and lightening sending everyone scattering for shelter, but still roll on through without doing too much damage – or the wild things that threaten to snap trees and assail the unwary with hail. Only the foolish go out during the latter two. Only the foolish do things like perform house calls rather than batten down the hatches and wait till the worst is over. Only the foolish glance at the weather report before heading out and upon seeing that one such heavy storm is inbound _still_ decide to go out on the water.

“Only the foolish…” Tom mutters under his breath as he turns into Johnson cove, the fast approaching storm already altering the feel of the air. The skies overhead turned grey the evening before, not allowing the sun to peek through as it set and holding fast today too. The water’s already choppy, too, like it knew the storm was approaching and is already whipping itself up in excitement.

He could have told her no. Told her she’d have to wait till after this dervish ran its course. Could have told her to look out her window at those dense dark clouds and wait till she could see clear skies again. But he didn’t. Ryan called asking if he could come look at her router and see why her WIFI was spotty and he said he’d be right over. She’d needed it for something for work, she’d said. Even hearing that word, the inevitable thing that would take her away from the lake – from him – had caused an uncomfortable weight to land in his stomach.

Storm is mucking things up, is the answer. Probably. But this way he can put eyes on just to make sure, and be able to warn her about staying away from the windows just in case the wind catches a branch or something. And to maybe listen to the radio, have it as white noise, just in case the weather service issues an alert and requests that residents seek out a room without windows, seek shelter until the storm passes.

And help her bring in the deck chairs so they don’t blow around the porch. She’s clearly taking the advice of the welcome packet, already having tipped all but one of the chairs off their hind legs to lean them against the rail. That won’t do much if the winds are as bad as they’re saying.

“Tom!”

His name interrupts his thoughts and he glances away from the task of docking for a second to find that Ryan has appeared on the porch just outside the door, one hand still on the doorknob. Something else comes out of her mouth but the wind and the motor keep it from reaching his ears. He shakes his head, pointing to his ear before giving her a one-handed shrug, and wordlessly asking for a moment before she repeats herself.

She’s barefoot, in cutoff jean shorts and a loose terrycloth shirt, halfway down to meet him before he’s able to hop off Daisy Mae. “Oh. I’m sorry. I tried to call back, but Tori said you’d already left. I – I figured it out. Why the file wouldn’t download.”

He smiles, not for the first time glad his sister _hadn’t_ been able to relay a message to him. Sidestepping the issue of work, _her_ work at least, Tom nods. “Yea? That’s ah-um, glad to hear it. But still good I came.” He tips his head up towards the house, “I’ll help you get those indoors.”

The wind catches her hair, whipping it around as it ripples the light pink fabric of her shirt. “Think it’ll be that bad? The storm?”

So she isn’t as clueless about the weather as most that come up here to visit. He stomps down on the thought as soon as it pops into his head. Visiting means leaving, and right now he needs to be focused on getting those chairs into storage, so he can get back across the water.

He nods and motions up the stairs for her to lead the way back up towards the house. “It just may be,” he answers, trying to keep the act gentlemanly as he follows but failing and watching the way the muscles of her legs flex as she ascends the stairs. “Better to already have things stowed than to have to try to chase something down when you should be staying inside.”

The first few splats of water alter the color of the wood beneath their feet, and the handrails, before he feels one of the large drops hit him. The light pink of Ryan’s shirt turns to a darker pastel where the water droplets meet the fabric. Their leisurely pace up the stairs turns into a mad dash as the frequency of falling drops increases. By the time they reach the safety of the porch both are more wet than dry.

“Well, then…” Ryan laughs, shaking her arms once at her sides, as though that will help her to dry off faster. “Now I’m _really_ sorry you came all the way over here. I can get the chairs… if you can get back in this?”

Tom shakes his fingers through his hair to keep his curls from getting plastered to his head before plucking at his mostly wet shirt, pulling it away from his body where it’s trying to cling to him. The action doesn’t do much to keep the material from sticking to his skin. “This? Yea. It’s just a little water. I’ve been out in worse.”

“Which doesn’t make it safe. Or wise.”

He almost offers a quip back but instead turns and scoops one of the rocking chairs up by the chairback. If it were Tori that were mothering him the retort would have been aired without another thought. But this is Ryan, and he’s not quite sure if she’s someone he wants to open that door to. If he brought up the subject of their parents he’d have to divulge that part of his life, revisit that painful loss. And if she isn’t staying…

“Let’s get these stored before—” a rolling distant grumble of thunder echoes in the air. His smile, the remnants of the laughter they’d shared not a few moments prior at being caught in the rain, starts to diminish, “Before that gets much closer.”

“Closer?”

He glances over his shoulder after hooking his hand through the rung of a second chair and turning towards the side of the house where the storage shed sits on the edge of the tree line. The keys for the shed are in his pocket so it’ll just be a few quick dashes through the now rain-soaked yard to get things sorted, and then he can be on his way. “Yea – just put that chair down there and I’ll carry them over – should be time enough before the storm gets here. Can tell by the way that echoed.” He pauses to put a chair down and dig out the shed keys and get them situated in his hand before prepping to sprint across the yard, chairs in tow. “And the atmosphere.”

He's drenched by the time he gets to the shed and gets the door open. The sound of the rain beating down on the building’s roof is really all he can hear other than the short pants he emits from the quick sprint across the lawn. A few more rocking chairs and he’ll be done. And then Ryan… He glances back at the Johnson house, scowling. He needs to figure out what he’s even doing over here. He came because she called, because it sounded like whatever files she needed were important to her… he came because he wanted to be near her.

But is it worth it to live in the moment? Forget that she’ll leave? Does it even matter to her that she’s leaving, eventually? He shakes his head, placing the chairs off to the side to leave room for the remaining ones, and jogs back out into the rain.

She’s standing at the edge of the porch, her arms crossed over her chest, waiting. She backs up, providing him room to leap from the waterlogged environment back up to the relative safety of the porch.

“What do you mean, the atmosphere?” 

Tom blinks at her, stepping over to one of the rocking chairs while trying to make sure he doesn’t drip too much on the porch. He leans some of his weight onto the topmost edge of one of the chairbacks, causing it to shift back on the curve of the rockers. “Um.” He purses his lips a moment, thinking. “You can sort of feel it, on your skin?” He glances down at his arms and the water running down them in tiny rivulets, “The um, electricity that comes before a bad one. The way it charges, and changes, everything.” When he looks up again she’s got that half-amused expression on her face, the lightest smile that lures you in, coupled with that soul-searching stare that made him think she could see into the depths of him. He straightens, trying to shake himself out of the feeling but he can’t seem to unstiffen his stance. The next word from his lips comes out sharp, wary, careful. “What?”

Her smile grows as she shakes her head, “I’ve never heard someone talk about the weather like that.”

As he tries to relax his shoulders another peal of thunder echoes, shaking the house and rattling the panes of the windows beside them. They both still, looking at one another, eyebrows raised. Tom exhales first, leaning to the side to scowl at the clouds in the sky. “Yea yea. I’m moving. I’m moving.” He scoops the remaining chairs up, banging the two he’s trying to carry in one arm, all so he can get all three in one go. Dings in the finish can be repaired later, repainted later, when he’s not racing a force of nature. He flashes Ryan a quick smile before stepping off the porch towards the shed a final time. “Clearly you don’t hang out with the right kind of people.”

Her shouted reply makes him laugh, almost making him stumble and drop his armload of furniture. “You named your boat and were just talking to the sky. Are you talking about you?”

As he situates the remaining chairs in the shed his phone emits a series of beeps. A quick inspection reveals that it’s Tori, sending out a community alert to make sure everyone, residents and guests alike, are aware that it’s not safe to be out on the water and to let her know if anybody needs anything. At least she had offered up Gordon as her gopher-of-the-moment, saying that she would send him out in their all-wheel-drive vehicle if someone was worried about getting stranded or needed help with securing their watercraft.

He scowls at his phone for a minute, pausing to wipe some of the excess water from his face. Not looking like a drowned rat is sort of a lost cause at this point. He could still chance it, test Fate and Mother Nature alike and try to make it home again. But is that solution better than staying here, with Ryan?

Better isn’t the operative word. Either way he’s inviting trouble into his life.

By the time he’s gotten the storage shed locked back up and crosses the yard for the final time Ryan has found a few spare towels, making use of one while she was waiting, if her tousled half-dry hair is any indication. She gives a little start when he reappears, joining her on the porch as though spontaneously appearing from within the wall of rain, but recovers quickly, scooping up one of the folded-up towels that were sitting halfway between her and the door to the Johnson place. He nods and almost moves to take it from her, but then he sidesteps, heading for the stairs leading back down to the water.

“Wait. Are you leaving?”

The concern in her voice makes him pause, stopping a few steps down, just beyond the overhang of the porch. He turns back, squinting up at her through the rain and ending up needing to close one eye entirely to be able to halfway see her. It probably results in a fantastic expression, a caricature looking back up at her. He shrugs, hooking his thumb over his shoulder, halfway smiling as he replies, “Gotta make sure my girl is taken care of so she doesn’t get beaten up down there.”

She still doesn’t quite look certain. “Tori sent a…”

Tom nods, taking a backwards step down the stairs as another peal of thunder vibrates the air, seeming to shake the world itself, reverberating around within his chest. “I know. I’ll be right back up. Promise.”

He carefully skips stairs as he descends, rushing to get to the minimal shelter the upper level of the dock provides. By the time he gets Daisy Mae secured he even has doubts about running back up to the house, but Ryan is still standing up there, waiting for him to reappear. He can’t see her through the deluge, but he can feel it – is sure of it, to his very core – just as he could sense the change in the air that was the warning before the storm.

Conditions being what they are he certainly doesn’t want Ryan leaving the safety of the house to venture down here. Lightening strikes to water travel, another reason to be safe indoors and not out on the lake. He’s got shoes on – that small layer of rubber between the saturated wood and his body more than likely not doing much good, but it’s better than going about barefoot. He gives his head a shake to rock himself into motion, taking a breath before leaving the safety of the dock to sprint back up – skipping stairs as much as he dares – towards the old Johnson place, towards Ryan.

He whoops as he reaches the top of the stairs, chuckling as Ryan whirls on her heels and all but throws towels at him. She’s still got one looped around her neck and had kept the towel she had offered to him before he took his additional trip out in the rain, but apparently also has scooped up a third towel. Why?

She balances on the balls of her feet for a second, watching him try to twist and shake some of the excess water off. She settles flatfooted again, shaking her head slowly when she finally speaks to him, “That was **not** ‘right back’.”  

She’s been walking wild loops, pacing while she waited for him. The evidence of her impatience is all over the now bare porch, an intricate crisscrossing of footprints leading from the edge of the waterline near the railing and looping haphazardly back towards the house. He lifts his eyebrows as he considers how tense her posture is. “Just needed to make sure she was secure.”

“You just – what if you’d gotten hurt down there? Trapped, or slipped, or something.” Ryan has a tight grip on the towels, barely relinquishing even one of them when he tries to claim it from her. Tugging it away from her ends up pulling her towards him. Even then, he can barely hear her over the storm surrounding them. “I wouldn’t have known.”

He’s half smiling as he starts trying to towel off, rubbing the fluffy material along the side of his head and over his neckline so he can show that he’s still listening to her. No blocking her from his line of sight. That’s when it clicks and his smile falters – the way her hands are shaking, it isn’t from anger – if she were angry she’d be shouting at him instead of hardly talking at what could be considered normal volume.

She’s afraid.

Is this fear over the calculated risk he took or something else? He reaches out, the now slightly damp towel still covering one hand, and touches her shoulders. Could that simple act steady her? “Hey. I’m alright. I’m right here.”

Ryan stands before him for a second and then seems to tip forward, slipping from his grasp to collide with him, her arms wrapping around his waist, the pressure of the extra towel in her hands pressing against his spine. She wasn’t half as drenched as he was to start, and she doesn’t seem to care that he looks like he just went swimming fully clothed or that she’ll soon become wetter from transference.

He closes his arms around her in a gentle hug, now coming to realize that the tremors weren’t limited to her hands. Her arms, even her shoulders, are shaking. He runs the non-towel clad hand over her back, aware that she’s said something more but he’s not quite sure what. “What?” He asks, pausing the motion and lifting his hand from her shoulder blade.

She barely loosens her hold, the warmth of her body immediately something he misses, and leans back so she can tilt her head to look up at him. “I said: Please, never do that again.”

Tom half frowns down at her. Why had it spooked her so much to not be able to see him working to secure Daisy Mae? Is it the strength of the storm? How quickly it went from grey skies to the thundering rain that seemed cut them off from the rest of the world?

As for her request – he can’t promise her that. There are some promises you can’t keep, and therefore have no right to utter. He moves to speak but then swallows, trying to figure out his next move. They’ve been arm in arm before. They’ve been pressed this close, but not quite in the same way. At the festival they’d needed to rely on one another to stay upright and had done surprisingly well tied together for the three-legged race. But that was in public.

It was easier to pretend indifference in front of a crowd. Now? Now half of him is insisting that he release her, take a few steps back, and start rambling on about the nature of storms and boat safety and what to do in the event that someone was to slip and fall. The _other_ half of him wants to let the moment continue, wants him to duck his head down and kiss her, and tell her that –

Ryan lifts herself up onto her tiptoes again, snaking one arm free of his waist to light her fingers first on the right side of his neck and then trail them up into his hairline. She applies just enough pressure to get him to bow his head enough that their lips can meet. Screw whatever hesitations he may feel about indulging the feelings that are developing. He can’t be wrong about their connection. He can’t be wrong about this.

He adjusts his stance, tilting his shoulders at a different angle to better secure his arms around her. She tastes of rainwater, whether from her short sprint in the rain or transfer from his adventures in the downpour. Not that it matters.

When she does break away from him it isn’t to put a hard stop to this moment. She doesn’t shove distance between the pair of them again. Instead she settles flatfoot again, her hand drifting down over his shoulder to rest over his bicep. “This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, you know. I was freaking out. Almost called your sister.”

Tom adjusts his stance, widening the space between his feet so he isn’t towering over her quite so much. The sky continues to growl in the background, but it’s almost as though neither of them can hear it. He reaches up to tug at the towel that is hanging around her neck, squinting one eye partially shut, smirking, “If this is the punishment, I’ll gladly stay on the hook. And can I just say – I’m _very_ glad you didn’t call Tori?”

“What?” Ryan lets out a laugh, arcing an eyebrow at him, “Won’t kiss me in front of your sister?”

“Oh, I’ll kiss you in front of anybody you want.” He shakes his head, settling his hands down around her hips and pulling her close to him again. It’s comfortable to have her there, like she’s always meant to have been standing there, standing here with him. “Though that might get a little uncomfortable after a while.”

She cocks her head to the side, “Was that a proposition?”

That weird weight that had settled in his stomach at the mere mention of her job had lifted and turned to something surprisingly warm in his chest, but now it twists and starts to snake its way south again, the warmth spreading at a dangerous pace. He should let her step away. He should release her hips and let the cooler air that arrived with the stormfront help to cool off the moment, let the pair of them regain their heads.  

Except his hands won’t obey.

He finds himself grinning right back at her and tipping his head in the opposite direction, towards the door to the old Johnson place. “I don’t know. You still want me to come in and take a look at your router?”

“Was _that_ a proposition?”

“I don’t know,” he repeats, using the same tone. He lifts his left shoulder in a short shrug before continuing the thought, “Clearly I’m out of practice. And didn’t you say you figured out why the file wouldn’t download?”

She winks at him, moving a little within his grasp. Ah yes, those hips that make his brain short circuit, driving his thoughts well away from anything resembling caution. “My boss had locked the file until he talked with me. We talked. It worked.”

She jumps when lightning strikes close and another peal of thunder rattles their environment, flirtations momentarily abandoned. Her fingertips have gotten caught in his sleeve from the jarring motion, but he hardly cares. She could jump into his arms and he’d be alright with it. Actually… He dips his hands lower and scoops her up, her legs finding their way around his waist quickly.

She’s closer to eye-level with him now, at least without him having to stand oddly. But she doesn’t shift right back into her suggestive manner. A bashful smile crosses her lips. “Ah. I don’t do well with intense storms…”

As if he hadn’t noticed the way she jumps with every lightning strike. He shifts the way he’s holding her, taking the first step towards the house. He wants to kiss her again, but maybe… maybe not quite yet. She’s vulnerable now, revealing a fear he hadn’t previously known. “It’s alright. I’m here.” Not much he can really do about the storm, other than attempt to distract her. He can distract her and get her inside – safer, slightly safer. A smile plays on his lips, “Won’t be going anywhere, for a little while at least. So I’m here… To take a look at the router, or check for leaks, or whatever else needs doing till the storm passes.”

Ryan laughs in his arms and leans forward until she is resting her head sideways on his shoulder, her arms draped around his neck. It makes it easier for him to see where he’s going, but he knows that wasn’t the reason for the action. “Ha. Ok. _Damn,_ you need to practice.”

Once again, she’s finding humor at his expense – but he honestly doesn’t care. Clearly she isn’t off-put by his awkward attempts at flirting with her. “You can do better?” It’s probably not the wisest of challenges, but he just can’t help himself.

There’s the door. Leaving the towel clad hand in place he risks reaching out with the other to try to gain admittance to the house. There. There’s the doorknob. Fuck, if he drops her now… But she’s halfway supporting herself to be able to remain in place in his arms.

“Mmhmm.” She shifts again, lifting her head to dot a light kiss on his cheekbone just before his ear. The action almost draws him up short. Probably would have completely stalled his steps except for what she says next, low – and only audible because she has her mouth so close to his ear. “Care to come in for some coffee?”

He barks out a laugh as he steps over the threshold, turning immediately – and narrowly avoiding the entryway table – to pin her against the hallway wall. One word escapes him before he kisses her again: _yes_.

 


	8. The Fickleness of Fate

**H** e’s found excuses, reasons… whatever – he’s found himself enjoying Ryan’s company more over the span of the last few weeks than he has in the previous months she’s resided at the lake. Because in his mind that’s what she’s done. She has become a resident, not just a vacationer.

The concern is still there, the reticence to become fully lost in the feeling of the moment. His is rooted in the fear that Fate will turn her head, and upon noticing his situation she will once again strike, once again stealing away the beating thing in the center of his being. And Ryan? Her reservédness is probably in relation to the small bit of distance he is trying to maintain, sensing that last leap that he is trying to keep from taking.

If he does it, if he hands Ryan his whole heart and she still chooses to walk away? What will he do, then? If he asks her what they’re doing – if it’s just a summer fling or something more – and she opts for the more casual choice? Can he recover, again, from a broken heart? Tori had bounced back at a faster pace after the death of their parents, but she had Gordon to help her remain grounded, to root her more securely to the present. They had done their best to pull him along with them but in the end, it was the lake that had saved him. The lake and the job had given him purpose. He could carry on their parents’ legacy that way – carry on with what they had built.

That was also part of the reason for his hesitance to branch out any further. If they bought up more land and changed the concept from the small pockets of development, turned it into something more commercial, were they dishonoring the intentions of their parents?

Instead of crossing from his place to the old Johnson place via the water he’s elected to drive, making a mental note to add landscaping to his to-do list for the coming days. The naturalness of the area is part of the charm, but there’s a point where the front of the property leading up to the house turns from something aesthetically pleasing into just looking overgrown. Maybe he’ll be able to talk Gordon into coming over to help one afternoon. All four of them could make an evening of it, spend time out on the water together afterwards.

Tonight, though, it’s just the pair of them. He’s brought along the wine – Ryan claiming that he had done enough in terms of food. It would be her turn for surprising him with a sunset dinner on the porch, or on the second level of the dock. She hadn’t been entirely specific on that.

Lights are on inside, but she doesn’t appear at the door as he gets out of the truck. He’s so used to seeing her appear on the porch when she hears him arrive in Daisy Mae… it’s odd not to see her magically summoned. Magically. He sighs and huffs out a light laugh, rolling his eyes at himself in the reflection of the driver’s side window. She might be cooking, or finishing getting ready for the evening…

He glances down at his watch, the action almost involuntary. He’s roughly on time. Ok. Maybe a _little_ early. Stymied, he goes back to studying his reflection, giving himself a clueless shrug. Dawdle out on the front drive making mental notes or go on up to the house. Choosing the latter option, he can at least offer to help – or – and the thought makes him grin as soon as it pops into his head – maybe to _distract_.

Maybe he can pick her brain about the business, too. Weigh the financial decision behind investing in further properties and … well, introduce the whole line of thinking that goes along with discussing the business with her. He shifts the bottle of wine from one hand to the other as he turns towards the old Johnson place. She hasn’t actually asked about the history of the place where she’s been staying. They include some information in the welcome packet, but he’s expected more of her natural curiosity to come out in the form of questions. Maybe it’s just that she’s picking up on his hesitance to dive too deep into the past.

Another something to remedy.

He starts to head towards the side door but then hears the distinct sound of the porch door in motion. If he went up and knocked now she might not hear him. If she’s going in and out through the back, he might as well save them both the trouble. He reroutes, cutting through the lawn to dodge around the side of the house.

It’s a good evening for being out-of-doors. And there – he catches the scent of citronella on the air. It’s a much needed precaution against being devoured by bloodsucking fiends when you’d rather be enjoying the company of someone special.

As he approaches the back of the house he glances aside, down the slope to look out at the water, still shimmering in the late-afternoon sun. It’s weird to be here and not see Daisy Mae at the dock. But it’s all well and good. She’s back at home, safe and sound. He stops, one hand shoved into the pocket of his slacks, the other gripping the neck of the bottle of wine he had grabbed almost as an afterthought as he was prepping to leave his place. She’ll probably have something for them to drink, too, but this is a special bottle. Something he decided he wanted to share with her. 

He takes a breath and shakes himself out of his thoughts, forcing his feet into motion once again to finish the path around the house to gain access to the porch. It’s undergone a slight change in the day he’s been doing other things. Some of the Christmas lights have found their way out of the shed and onto the railings which will surely add a nice glow later in the evening. If not a great attraction for the misquotes and moths. Maybe that’s why she’s already burning the citronella candles.

The porch more now resembles a quaint little bistro. All but one of the rocking chairs must still be hidden away in the storage shed. He can only imagine how the scene might have unfolded earlier in the day, how she got the table and chairs from the kitchen out onto the porch – and what it looked like as she strung the lights.

Her name is on his lips, ready to call out, when he realizes that she’s not just sitting out there waiting for him. She’s talking? Aloud? To herself or – no. Ah there, he can see the device in her hand, so she must have a headset hidden beneath the waves of her hair. He’ll just – wait out the conversation. He stalls his steps, waiting in the grass versus announcing his presence with shoe to board. If it’s work – or _home_ , he realizes with a pang, because this isn’t the place where she’s rooted – he’ll just step away, allow her some privacy. But he finds himself remaining still, curious as to cues from her half of the conversation.

But then, all because of a phrase Ryan utters, time stops. It isn’t a work call, which would have been a good thing, _should_ have been a good thing, just like the subject she’s talking about _should_ be a good thing – cause she’s talking about him. Except for the nature of what’s being said.

“I know. I know. Well, yes. He’s – I know. Broken, and – I know.” She’s quiet, listening to the thoughts of the person on the other end of the line, and then continues on, “It is time, don’t you think? Time to let the lease run out? Cause…”

So she _is_ thinking of leaving. She has remained tied elsewhere, even while establishing herself in the community here. Hard to qualify, exactly, the abrupt swing in emotions he feels – the sudden drop as though he has missed a step and finds himself about to fall backward down a long flight of stairs.

“It is. I’ve thought it over.” She stops, again listening to the reply coming in response to her words.

He can’t seem to unclench his teeth. He should move. Should, but can’t.

“Well, yea. I know. I was going to say tragic but that applies, too. Poignant. Moving. Heart-wrenching. I don’t know what I would have done. How I would have coped.”

She’s. She’s talking about his family. About the deaths of his _parents_. How did she find out? Did Tori tell her? Did she dig something up somehow? _He_ certainly didn’t breathe a word of it to her. Even the fact that he was considering talking to her about anything relating to his past now leaves him queasy. Now, now… God. She’s laughing! Following that line of thought _how can she possibly be laughing_?!

“Ok! Yea. You’re right. Yea. Soon. I’ll call you and let you know.” She hums out a noise he knows well before continuing, “Promise.”

That’s the tone she uses when she’s happy. Fuck how happy she is. _Fuck_ that he _knows_ that that is how she sounds when she’s happy.

“Yes. I said _yes_! Ok. I’m hanging up now.” She’s laughing again, contented with herself as she says her goodbyes.

What is he even doing? Why had he even thought to let his guard down? Why had he let Tori rope him into exploring, developing those feelings that first stirred within him upon seeing Ryan Culler appear on this very porch those few months ago? He should have ignored the attraction. Should have held firm to his built-up indifference to the faces that filtered past, that came and went, that left messes in the houses and all over the properties…

She’s leaving. She’s letting her lease expire and she’s leaving. She’ll be gone. She’ll be gone and -- 

“Tom?”

He blinks out of his rigid haze, the unwelcome expression of surprise on her face furthering his spiral. She doesn’t realize how much he’s heard. He wasn’t _that_ early. He swallows, no words coming to mind, which is all well and good cause his mouth, and lips, are dry. Swallowing does no good to remedy that.

She scoots the chair back, leaving her phone on the tabletop as she sweeps herself up – and in any other situation he would smile gently at her appearance. But not now. Not here. Not in this moment. It’s all he can do to nod once at her, something that forces the warm smile from her face and replaces it with a look of uncertainty.

“Are you… is everything ok?”

She gives him a hesitant once over, noting the effort he put into his appearance too. Nothing over the top, but nicer slacks and a button down. It was supposed to be a pleasant evening shared! She’s still picking her way carefully across the length of the porch. God, if he could stop watching it unfold before him in slow motion.

“You tell me.”

Those three words stop her before she even gets halfway to him. She blinks, and a little v forms between her eyebrows as she furrows them together. “What? What are you – you’re doing that thing again.” He doesn’t reply, just challenges her to keep going with a jerk of his chin. “That thing – that thing where you become impossible to read. One minute you’re here and happy and every inch a man I enjoy being with. And then the next?” She waves her hand at him, half angry – half helpless. “The next you’ve closed off again. Gone somewhere else. Become someone else.”

If anyone has a right to be angry tonight, it’s him. Her frustration is in response to his mood. And his mood? That’s all on her.

Tom shakes his head, already succumbing to the urge to turn on his heel. Just this one more thing said, and he’ll leave. He’ll turn his back and turn off his heart. “Hey. If I’m not enough the man you want to be around? If I’m too _broken_. Then there’s no reason to stay, is there? Go on back.”

He is seething, seething and wanting to scream but can’t. The look on her face. There’s no need to even raise his voice. She looks like she’s been slapped. What was she expecting? A genial ‘aw shucks’ and delight that someone was finally here to help mend the faults within him?

“Nobody here needs fixing. Or your sympathy. Go _home._ ”

She has been, will always be, a Summer Person.

 


	9. The Deeds of Mann

“What. Did. You. Do.”

**W** hat’s he been doing? Same thing he’s been doing since getting back in his truck and driving away from the old Johnson place two days ago. Drinking. Drinking while alternatively enjoying his little pity party and raging at Fate.

He knew this would happen. 

“Title of your memoirs.” Tom keeps his eyes shut, both to attempt to shut out his sister and to help fight against the way the sun worsens the headache he’s been trying to rid himself of since stumbling from bed this morning.

Drinking heavily wasn’t something he did much of anymore and he’s paying dearly for it. He’d started with that bottle of wine he meant to share with _her_ and then kept right on. The birds chirping to announce the arrival of dawn the following day hadn’t stopped him. And nobody had shown up to make demands of him. Over the period of the last 56 hours the bed, when he did seek it out, hadn’t brought much comfort, either. Granted he _had_ only barely attempted to lay down. Rather than toss and turn under the sheets he had gotten up and found his way out to reclaim his place at the kitchen table – moving from there, where the drinks were closer, out to the deck where he could try to usurp some of the tranquility of the lake.

Worked great – ok, horribly – but he hasn’t been in any condition to be picky.

“You little shit. Get up.” She stomps closer, making him wince, and then kicks the side of the wooden lounge chair he’s sprawled in. “What did you do?”

He groans in annoyance, which doesn’t help his headache in the slightest. “Go _away_ , Tor.”

“Bad choice, man.” Gordon’s response comes from further off. At least one of the pair has a little respect for his misery.

He expects another kick to the chair, or maybe a punch to the shoulder. Maybe even a thunk to the side of his head. He does not expect the sudden startling cold of a cascade of water being dumped onto his person. Tom blinks his eyes open, sputtering as he scrambles to stand, to see his sister holding a bucket aloft, fury written across her features. “Hey! What the hell?!”

“What the hell?? What the hell!?!” Tori isn’t giving him an inch. She simply tosses the bucket behind her, letting it clatter around on the expanse of deck between them and the path she and Gordon had taken to get to his place. It’s not a bad walk and gives them just enough space to be independent while also within arms reach in case anything is needed.

At the moment Tom is halfway rethinking the whole ‘staying within arm’s reach’ thing. A bit more distance between their old family home where Tori and Gordon live and the little place he had purchased… maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing.

Tori digs her index and middle fingers of her right hand into his now drenched pectoral. “You’ve been hiding out here for two days and then this morning I wake up to find an envelope with the key to the old Johnson place in it in our letterbox and Ryan’s _gone._ ” She shoves her left hand into her back pocket and pulls out what Tom can only assume is the envelope that was said to contain the key. It also seems to contain a bit more than simply a bit of metal. “So. I’ll ask again. What. Did. You. Do?”

Tom blinks at the brilliant white of the thing she’s waving in his face and then squints as he shoves her hand, and then her, aside. He glares across the deck at Gordon, who is still standing on land, waiting in the shade. Traitor didn’t think to give him a heads up against the warpath his sister was on? Gordon just frowns at him in return.

No support from either of them, then.

Good thing he can’t produce enough fucks to care about much of anything at the moment.

“Nothing.” But the one-word answer isn’t enough. He’s wet – which only serves to remind him of the first time he kissed _her_ – and angry that the people that should be on _his_ side right now are by the looks of things siding with her! Whatever she might have told them… Headache raging, he growls, squinting to try to alleviate the affects of the marching band in his head, and the fury rising within him. “Nothing that wasn’t deserved! Anyway. She should’ve left months ago.” Learning that she’s done it, gone home like he demanded – like he spat at her – surprisingly _does_ hurt a little. He steadies himself against the side of the house for a moment before spinning on his heel to put the lake at his back. Waving his hand out towards Gordon and the woods beyond, he shakes his head, “It’s almost _fall_. Leaves’ve already started to change.”

Gordon shakes his head, mouth dropping open as he scrunches up his face, frown still evident. “What?”

Tori doesn’t seem to make the connection either. She isn’t shaking the bulging envelope in the direction of Tom’s face anymore though, so that’s a plus in his favor. She’s still got it clutched in her hand, but both hands are on her hips as she studies Tom. “Are you _drunk_?”

“Hungover. I recognize that look.”

Tom scowls anew at Gordon, at the disgust in his tone. “Sorry to offend my uninvited houseguests.” He waves his arm again in a lose reference to the direction of their house, “You know the way home.”

His sister inhales, tsking as she draws a breath, before the low – sharp statement is loosed, driving to the very center of him. “That what you said to Ryan?”

He lifts his upper lip in a slight snarl before his lips falter, and the dead feeling inside falls away, a sharp stabbing pain making itself known even over the protestations of his head. “She didn’t belong here, Tor. Wasn’t one of us. No matter what I tried to convince myself of.”

“She…”

Tori is shaking her head, still not believing him. Still trying to make a point that will even begin to counter things he _knows_ for certain. She wasn’t there. She didn’t hear what Ryan had said to the person on the other end of the phone. He shakes his head right back at his sister, “She laughed, Tor. Laughed at what happened to our parents. Like it was any of her business to even _know_.”

Tori’s eyes widen for a second, but she doesn’t get a chance to respond, or start to question Tom’s statement. “I told her.” The twins swing in unison to look at Gordon, nodding at them from the shade – from the safety of shore. He knows when it’s better to let the pair of them have it out, and when it’s better to intervene. Today he’s opting for giving them space. “She wanted to know why we helped host the charity drive every year. Why it was so important to the pair of you that the emergency services teams had the funding they needed for… things.”

Tom swallows, his head swimming with too much drink, with new information that needs to be absorbed to be fully processed. So, she had been curious after all, just hadn’t come to him for information about his past. He should have known. But it didn’t excuse what he heard! What she said! About his parents. About him.

“Anyway,” he turns his focus back to his sister, “It was time for it to end. Said so herself. She was letting the lease end. None of it meant anything to her. It was a fling. A fuck. Something to pass the time.”

There’s no warning to Tori’s action. She just takes a giant step forward and shoves her hands into the center of his chest sending him sprawling backwards – right off the end of the deck and into the water. He breaks the surface of the water again, wiping a hand across his face as he sputters. Tori had shoved him off the dock!

Tori tosses the envelope she had previously been waving in his face down onto the deck close to where he had just been standing. Tom starts treading water, the water just deep enough here that he can’t touch, not sure of the wisdom of trying to swim any closer quite yet. His sister squats down just at the edge of the deck. She looks him over, eyes darting over his features before shaking her head at him. “I’ve never been so ashamed of you.”

Both men watch as Tori stands and stalks off the deck again, up to Gordon to exchange some heated low-level words, before storming off down the path between the two houses. Tom watches her go, expecting Gordon to follow eventually, but his friend just stands there in the shade with his arms crossed. After about a minute he huffs and moves out into the sunlight, finally risking a step onto the deck. “Well. You getting out of there?”

If he could shrug in response without sinking, he would. As it stands Tom just keeps treading water. “That depends. You gonna throw me back in again?”

Gordon walks to the edge of the deck and stoops down, roughly in the same place his wife had, shaking his head. “Nah, man.” He stretches a hand out, offering it as assistance to get out of the water if it’ll be accepted. “Not that you don’t deserve it. But don’t you wanna go after Ryan?”

Tom looses a snort, flicking a leaf away from his body. “Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Cause you care about her?”

“She told me I was broken. Well, she told _someone_ I was broken.”

Gordon lowers his hand, propping his arms loosely on his knees as he balances there at the edge of the water in a squatted stance. “Who isn’t?”

“And closed off.” Tom swims a little closer, “Impossible to read.”

“Right. Which you _definitely_ aren’t. Course.”

“Prick.”

“And you certainly didn’t try your level best at making her fall for you. And this place. The lake. All of it.” Gordon pauses and then makes a face before dipping his head in a nod and laughing, “This place I get, but you? C’mon.”

Scowling even though he halfway wants to laugh, Tom takes the last few strokes to be able to draw himself alongside the deck he had painstakingly built. He glances up at Gordon, not quite ready to accept his friend’s offered assistance. “You know, I take back everything I said at your wedding.”

Gordon offers a half-shrug in return. “Yea. Figured you didn’t mean half of it anyway. At least it was you that ended up in the water this time, instead of me.”

Tom shakes his head, finally reaching up towards his friend, accepting help out of the water again. “If memory serves you volunteered for that.”

“I was _trying_ to keep up with your sister.” Gordon grunts as he leans back, shifting his weight to help keep the pair of them from tumbling off the dock together. “Or catch her.”

Stifling a groan, Tom twists to settle more securely on the deck before laying back, the circle of wet wood beneath him expanding as water seeps off his clothes. If he closes his eyes he can just pretend that none of the past few minutes, hours, days – _months_ – have happened. He’s just enjoying the mid-morning sun in the pre-autumn, just a guy and his best friend and the lake. A waterlogged guy, and his sometimes-traitorous best friend, and the lake.

Something heavy WHAPs into his stomach and he blinks an eye open, fluttering both open when he lifts his head to see that Gordon has retrieved the envelope and tossed it at him. “You really should read what’s in that.”

“What’s in it?” He lifts himself up slightly, just enough to settle himself onto his elbows, stubbornly leaving the envelope in place right below the end of his ribs.

“How should I know?” Gordon shrugs as he chooses a place to sit just beyond the expanding puddle emanating from Tom. “Tori said it was for you.”

“Please,” Tom deadpans as he tilts his head at his friend, raising one eyebrow in reply, “If Tori knows, you know.”

Loosing a pained sigh, though still smiling, Gordon shakes his head. “Sometimes it sucks, y’know, that you know us so well.” Using two fingers he points towards Tom’s torso, at the brilliant white envelope that’s starting to get a little soggy on the underside. “Just read. And then get cleaned up. And let me know if you want a ride.”

\--

* * *

 

_Tom –_  
_It was going to be a surprise, but now… There’s little point, is there. I know you’ll be upset you didn’t hear that Charlie Mann was thinking of selling. That I was able to scoop it up. It was one of those happy accidents that occurred because of a passing conversation at The Breakwater. I can only hope you won’t hold that against him, or the property itself._  
_The property – I’ve enclosed the deed. It is my wish that you add it to the collection of properties the pair of you manage. Charlie made it clear I wasn’t allowed to turn around and sell it right away, so until the duration of time stipulated in the contract passes it will remain in my name. (Don’t worry. I won’t be there for the duration. It’s clear that’s not what is wanted.) Eventually, if you want it, it’s yours for the pair of you to assume ownership. I ~~hope~~ know that you and Tori will take good care of it in the meantime._  
_Please do your best to keep your head above water, Tom. And remember everyone you’re unfamiliar with isn’t your enemy. Not all of us. Some of us are just looking for a place to belong._  
  _Yours,_  
_Ryan_


	10. No Shortcuts

**T** ori glowers at her brother via the screen of his device. Video calls are great for support, but also great for preventing one’s sister from being able to assault them. He called her to stall further – no, no that was her accusation. He called her to prove that he wasn’t useless, was a decent human being, and terrified of getting out of his truck to walk up to the cold stone structure before him. Not terrified, really, but nervous about what it means. He didn’t do well before when he tried the city life. The pace of it didn’t suit him, at any rate. He’s here now because…

“Get _out!_.” Tori all but shouts at him, the video of her wobbling as she scoops up her phone and walks across the office space once used by their father. “I swear if you don’t get out of that truck this instant. So help me…”

He scowls and refolds his arms, wiggling to settle himself further into the driver’s seat. “I’m _here_ , aren’t I? Give me a minute.”

She huffs and looks down her nose at him, “We’ve been on the phone for at least half an hour. Should’ve been timing it. And how long did you just sit there before calling me?”

Long enough, but she doesn’t need to know that.

He’s here because… because neither she nor Gordon would allow him to reread the water-stained letter from Ryan again without actually _doing_ something. One day torturing himself was all he’d been allowed before they intervened. One day. One damn day. _One_. One and only one day spent reading, rereading, and reading it again, guilt swelling within him. The pair of them had banded together to put a stop to it. Wouldn’t even let him go appraise the property, probably because they knew he’d try to use needed improvements as a way to delay what came next.

What came next, which was: this. Sitting out in the parking lot before her office building, trying to work up enough nerve to eat his words, apologize for his behavior, and visually confirm her now-low opinion of him.

To his credit, though he brought it with him, he hasn’t yet shimmied the papers out of the envelope to face them once more. It’s taking effort to keep his eyes on his sister’s image, keep himself from letting his gaze dart over to the passenger’s seat – to the envelope and the slightly warped pages held within.

The water stained aspect of Ryan’s letter is all Tori’s fault. If she hadn’t pushed him into the water… Tori _and_ Gordon’s fault. Cause Gordon had tossed the envelope at him. Course _he’d_ then refused to open the envelope and read the letter… his pride keeping him from snatching it up immediately. Thankfully the deed to Charlie Mann’s place – though now technically it belongs to Ryan – had been unharmed from the adventure. Not that there wouldn’t have been duplicates made, but still.

_The deed_ is why he’s here, sitting out in the parking lot in front of the building where Ryan is employed. He’s facing the job that he always feared would take her from him. Talented man that he is, he managed that feat all on his own. Yep. The deed is why he’s here. Not guilt. And certainly not a desperation to find the reset button, anything to undo what had happened, take back what had sent Ryan packing.

His avoidance regarding Tori’s question is answer enough for his sister. She nods, squinting one eye at him. “Exactly what I thought. Stop it.” She blinks and settles a look far too familiar to him, calling to mind their mother, and urges him on with a slight shrug and a swivel of her head, “Get out. Fix it.”

Tom swallows, leaning forward in his seat to try to get a clearer view of the building, letting his eyes wander up as he counts the floors. He knows the name of the company where she works and can figure out what floor from there. But. Will she see him? Will she want to hear what he has to say?

She’d called out for him that night at the old Johnson place. The night he had turned his back on her. He honestly can’t remember if she’d tried to follow or if she’d just stood there, a half dozen paces from the edge of the porch. Frozen.

He’d deserve it if she refuses to speak to him.

“I’m hanging up now. If you don’t show up for dinner I’ll call and get building security to check on…”

“Love you too, sis.” Tom rolls his eyes, ending the call before tossing the phone aside out of habit, the device bouncing and landing with a plop halfway onto the pristine white envelope. There goes that method of delaying what’s to come.  

The new envelope’s got her letter, but also the deed to her house, the latter folded upon itself separately so he won’t have to fumble it loose from the former. Should’ve left the letter at home, really. To keep his hands free he’ll… he’ll tuck it securely against his back at his waistband or shove it into his back pocket. The deed to her place is his in, if he freezes in trying to introduce himself. If he gets stopped and asked why he’s hanging around. Nodding to himself, he tries talking himself through it mentally. Important document she left at the rental place that he can’t just leave with anybody. Needs to give it to her. Just to her. Her specifically.

Wherever she is in there…

His eyes flick from focusing on the building to looking at himself in the rearview mirror, and he scowls. “Be over sooner if you just get outta the car, Tom.” His reflection offers no better view, or advice, or sympathy.

Tom sits back again, pursing his lips. Might hurt sooner, too, but at least he’ll be able to start recovering. Not that he’s great about moving forward. But he can’t just leave things as they are. First of all – Tori’ll never allow it, and secondly – he refuses to allow Ryan to just donate the property to their care. Right now they can’t buy it off her, either. They’re solvent but there’s no telling what might come at them over the next few months, what the winter will bring, never mind what needs to be done to the place itself to get it up to rental standards.

If she wants in on the business, she’s got to have a hand in getting the property ready for guests.

No shortcuts.

He finds himself muttering that last bit along with the thought. Thrumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he lightly nods at his reflection. That’s what he’s got to do. Not just give her back the deed to her house but stop trying to do things halfway. If he wants her in his life – and he does – he can’t just show her pieces and parts of himself. She’s got to know the whole of him. Maybe she’ll still decide to wash her hands of him, and the community she seemed to so enjoy, but at least she’ll know the answer to the last question she asked him.

Who does he become when he isn’t as open with her? He becomes the man that after the conclusion of his parent’s funeral went out on the deck, leaned against the railing for support and screamed at the lake, at the world, for continuing to spin right on without two of the people he held most dear. He becomes the man that can’t drive on a certain section of road, who would rather travel hours out of his way than drive past the place their car went off the road rather than become the third car in a multi-car pileup.  He becomes the man who would rather chase someone away, ruin the chance for something more, all to avoid seeing even an ounce of pity in her eyes.

 


	11. Left, Right, and Straight-ahead

**H** e should’ve taken the stairs up to the fourth floor rather than the elevator. It mightn’t’ve worked through the adrenaline spike surging through his veins, making him a little jittery, but he would’ve had a decent excuse for the clamminess of his palms, the perspiration wetting his hair at the back of his neck. He didn’t quite stammer through his greeting to the receptionist, diverting quickly into a request for directions. Which way to Culler’s office?

The receptionist tilts his head in one direction, indicating the opposite as the path Tom should take. “Ryan’s down that way. End office.”

And Tom is off, nodding a brief thanks as he focuses on keeping his plodding momentum. One foot in front of the other. If he stalls out now…

“But.” There’s the sound of a rolling chair being vacated, and the receptionist is standing when Tom slows his steps and glances back over his shoulder. He’s still got his head tilted off kilter, “She’s not there?”

Tom blinks, hearing himself respond in question, “She’s not?”

“No. She – uh. Who did you say you were, again?”

Had he identified himself as he came off the elevator? He was pretty sure he had. And signed in on the book downstairs, though each of the floors did seem home to different companies. Tom shakes himself, reaching back to snag the envelope as he slowly retraces the half a dozen paces back towards the receptionist’s desk. “My sister and I own the place she rented. Recently. Up at the lake?”

The receptionist is still eying him curiously, but not offering a sign-in log. And a few heads have turned in interest, the work in the cubicles being abandoned.

Trying to ignore the movements of the others in the office, Tom muddles on, somehow the planned words getting caught and tangled together in his mouth. “Ryan, ah. Miss Culler left something behind. Found it – aaand – felt like I should deliver them. The documents. That she left. See it, them, safely back.”

“You’re looking for Ryan?”

Tom takes one involuntary step to his right as one of the women in the cubicles abandons eavesdropping from her chair for inserting herself into the conversation. Wary, he nods, “Yea.” He barely resists the urge to palm the envelope back from the counter where he had set it down and shove it back into the back of his waistband.

It’s not an unkind look that he’s getting, from either of them, the receptionist or Ryan’s coworker. “I think she breezed through this morning, didn’t she, Oliver?”

Oliver seems hesitant, slow to dart his eyes from the conversation’s newest participant back to Tom. “Might’ve.”

“She had us all jealous, the pictures she was sending back.”

That news makes Tom’s eyebrows rise a bit. He didn’t know she was – but then he should’ve guessed that she had been talking to her friends and family back home, here, staying connected with the world. Somehow it had never occurred to him, up until hearing that singular conversation. But Ryan’s coworker is still talking, nodding occasionally as she swivels her focus between the two men.

“Gorgeous sunsets and cool hiking trails.” She settles a warm smile on Tom, leaning into Oliver’s desk a little more. “About what it’s like up there, too. How great everyone is.”

His heart clenches, and he fights to keep a grimace from pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Ah. Yea. We loved having her.” Feeling a heat rising over his cheeks he darts his gaze down, pulling the envelope off the counter and quickly shoving it right back against his spine again. Giving the pair of them, and the rest of those observing, a light nod, Tom shifts to try to disentangle himself from the conversation. “Though I guess you lot are glad to have her back. At work. Working.

Something in Oliver’s expression has changed, his stance a little more relaxed. He shrugs one shoulder, “Actually we were kinda surprised to see her.”

“Yea!” Another coworker joins the little group that is forming, jumping with ease into the conversation. “I thought that was the whole point of working remotely. _Not_ coming to the office.” And then to Tom, “Do you think we could do a retreat up there? Is there space for it?”

He should have brought Tori. Tom fights for control of his face, and to reroute his line of thinking. What would she want him to say? She’d dive into divining details about what type of event they wanted to hold, and how many people they’d need to put up. “What? Yea. Hang on, I’ll give you… our card?”

“Oh but Ryan told us the website, didn’t she Oliver?”

Oliver nods, watching as Tom relinquishes a card to the first of Ryan’s coworkers to have inserted herself into the situation. “Sure did. I’ll find it in a minute for you, Joyce. And –“ he waits to make eye contact with Tom, “If you don’t want to leave that for her, here, pretty sure she said she was running errands before going back home. Settling in for the weekend.”

Tom breathes out a breath of air he didn’t realize he was holding. Socializing with Gordon and the others at the lake over beers was entirely different than navigating niceties here. “Great. I appreciate it. Oliver.” He nods in thanks as he starts to move away from the reception desk again.

Home. Ryan is home.

Not his home. Not at the lake.

Ignoring the set of elevators, he bypasses the landing and heads for the stairwell. He’d looked that up too, before making the drive. Figured she would be at the office, after so much time spent away, but he’d also pulled up directions to the address she had listed in the rental agreement.

At his back, he can still hear them buzzing, though their conversation is distant. “…could’ve made him stay and talk a little longer.”

“Why’d she never send photos of _him_?”

“She did too. And didn’t you see her this morning? I think…”

The steel door of the stairwell slams shut, cutting out their conversation so that all he hears are the thrumming of his footsteps echoing off the walls, and his mostly incoherent stream of thoughts. Now he’ll have another ‘get out of the truck, Tom’ battle to deal with, once he makes it through the city streets to her place.

And – how is she going to react to him just showing up on her doorstep? Showing up at her workplace is different. It would have been a careful blend of public and private. If she had desired it he could have apologized and handed her back the deed in front of the watchful eyes of the coworkers that seemed to gravitate towards him. Or allow the exchange to take place behind the closed door of her office. He’d half wanted to see it – the placard by the door that, like the listing on the company site, always seemed to throw people off, expecting a man rather than the stunning woman that levelly met their gaze.

The heel of his left shoe skids on the edge of one of the steps, his body lurching forward unexpectedly. The next landing is close, maybe seven steps away, but that doesn’t mean he wants to experience a headfirst tumble. _That_ is not the way he wants this day to go. Not at all.

He flails unevenly as he scrambles to catch hold of the handrail, by some miracle managing to get a grip on the cold metal. Of course, now his heart is racing for an entirely different reason. He remains still a moment, various parts of his body already starting to protest. After that he keeps a scowl of concentration etched onto his face as he carefully navigates the remaining stairs down to the lobby.

By the time he makes it to the parking lot he’s limping, favoring the ankle he seems to have twisted in his haste. He’ll probably end up with a deep bruise on the side of his hand, as well. He sits for a second after starting the truck, twisting his arm around to be able to study the back edge of his palm, flexing his hand experimentally. Won’t feel great for the next couple of days. That, or his ankle. He’ll dig out an ice pack or two once he’s home again.

Other things to take care of, first.

Ryan.

He taps a series of commands into his phone to pull up the route he needs to take before sitting back again and giving his head a small shake. These aren’t signs that he should just give up. He’s _not_ going to just give up and go home, even if they _are_ signs. Ryan is owed an explanation for his behavior. And he damn well is going to give her one, whether she wants it or not!

Before he thinks through the maneuver, he thumps his fist on the steering wheel only to yelp at the impact. He leans forward, cupping the sore part of one hand within the palm of the other, loosing a long stream of obscenities.

Once he stops seeing spots he jabs irritably at his phone again to start the navigation and then puts his truck in gear, darting one last annoyed glance at himself in the mirror. “A sight you’ll be.” He huffs, allowing the audible commands for directions to sound before muttering to himself further, “Watch. She’s gonna be out. Running errands. Or gone to get food.”

That odd feeling remains in the back of his mind, unshakable, as he follows the route. Even if she doesn’t forgive him, which he hopes won’t be the case, but there’s always the chance. Hopefully things will fall back into alignment elsewhere in his life. No matter what happens. Was that what he was going to say? When she opened the door? ‘No matter what happens, or happened between us.’ No. Hell no. ‘I’m sorry I’m an ass?’ Would he get points for trying to make her laugh, or just a door slammed in his face? Maybe he shouldn’t say anything at all. Just stand there. Hold out the envelope containing the deed, the one currently digging into the meat of his lower back and crinkling with every shift of his torso. Hold it out and say…

**Turn right.**

The navigation breaks through his careening thoughts.

**Your destination is ahead, on the right _._**

He parks along with the rest of the cars in the expansive lot, once again finding himself listening to the ticking of the engine as he stares out through his windshield at a structure he _thinks_ contains Ryan. This time it doesn’t take a call to his sister to get him out of the vehicle. After a reassuring deep breath he dips his head in a nod and moves to extract himself from the driver’s seat.

He winces with the first step he takes, grimacing down at his left foot. “Yep. That’s what I get for rushing.” The way he’s limping nets him a few curious stares, but nobody offers assistance. Any other day, any other time, he’d add that to the list of things he didn’t like about the city. Course if he was back home there’d be nobody around at all to even bear witness. What’d he done the last time he hurt himself while out doing repairs? Wrapped up his arm and gone to find the nearest first aid kit, assessed the damage on his own, and sat there in the bathroom looking at the jagged cut in a mirror to figure out if he needed to go get stitches and a tetanus shot.  

It’s not a horrible complex. Not quite where he imagined Ryan living, but then it did fall squarely into the broad strokes she had described to him.

On the eighth floor he follows the signage in the direction indicated, steadily decreasing the distance between himself and the door to unit 824. And then he’s there, staring straight at it. There’s a bell. Should he ring that, or knock? Both? Buzz the bell and then give a solid knock, just for good measure. Suddenly his mouth has gone dry. He should have gotten a water bottle from the drink machine on the first floor, just at the mouth of the stairs. But he’d been avoiding even looking at the stairwell, his ankle protesting every movement.

Tom licks his lips when he hears the sounds of motion from within, footsteps approaching the door, readying himself for what he’ll say to her. He clenches his hands into fists and then winces, remembering how hard he had slammed his hand into the railing. He opens his mouth as the door swings open, but the person that answers isn’t Ryan, and his jaw drops slightly, an invisible weight pulling at his chin as it also settles onto his shoulders, pulling at his posture.

Whoever this man is, he’s not happy to see him standing on Ryan’s doorstep. “Oh.” The man narrows his blue-green eyes, “It’s you.”

 


	12. Relations and Revelations

**T** om fidgets and winces when his ankle protests the shifting of his weight, so he shifts back into the same uncomfortable stance that he’d started from. For some idiotic reason his brain is offering up a memory of running over to his next-door neighbor’s house when he was a kid, excited to be done with homework and wanting to spend the rest of the daylight hours cavorting around the neighborhood with his best friends.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

The fact that there’s a man, nearly as tall as he is, staring straight back at him has him blinking, stupefied. The fact that said man has a disapproving look on his face, and _clearly_ knows who he is, also has him thrown. “Um.” His mouth wants to fumble through asking if Ryan’s home. Since the – this – whoever this guy is, is determined to block the doorway. Ryan’s gotta be in there. But should he risk breaking eye contact to peer inside? 

“Who’s at the door, Austin?”

Ryan’s voice carries, though somewhat muted, from within. The confirmation of her presence makes him stand a little straighter and helps to shake loose the mental fog he’d been thrown into. It also answers one of the more glaring questions his brain has started screaming: **who is this man?!**   The ruddy man glaring at him has a name: Austin.

Either Austin prefers wearing a shirt that is half a size too small for him, or he lifts weights regularly. Maybe both. Only slightly shorter than Tom, Austin wins the competition on muscle mass easily. The ruddy man’s deep blue-green eyes narrow and he turns his head, keeping a watchful eye on Tom as he calls back a response, “Nobody, Ryan.” He then dips his head down, a snarl appearing as he speaks to Tom again in low tones, “Go. Away.”

“Look, I’m not here to cause trouble, I just…” He reaches around behind his back to pull the envelope into view, but falters, both in action and with his words when the very person he’s traveled all this way to see appears a few paces down the hallway.

Ryan’s eyes are rimmed in red, her complexion sporting odd patches of pink. Her face had held open curiosity when she first appeared, popping into view over Austin’s shoulder, but she stops cold when she realizes _he’s_ the one at the door.

Again Tom feels his heart lurch and constrict within his chest. Were they waiting for take away? Is he too late? Had his behavior driven her back into the arms of the lover she left behind in the city? The pressure within his chest continues to squeeze uncomfortably.

Tom finishes prying the envelope from the waistband of his pants, shifting to tap the thickness of it gently against his thigh. Now that she’s standing there it doesn’t really seem to matter that he could potentially get bulldozered by this Austin guy. He can’t look anywhere but at her.

“You left something,” he knits his eyebrows together in a sharp scowl, “and I can’t…” He can’t stand seeing her like this, miserable and frozen, staring at him. Staring at him over the shoulder of a stranger who’s cold greeting left no doubt as to their opinion of his character. He blinks, shaking himself a little to force his focus away from Ryan to check if – yep, Austin still looks like he’d like nothing better than to throw him down the stairs. Just a few quick words and, hell, if Ryan wants it maybe he should just let him. “Can I come in? Just for a minute. Just one minute and I swear, Austin, is it? I swear I’ll leave.”

Nobody moves.

Tom, quite honestly, is afraid to breathe. He swallows, once again letting his focus shift. Austin still looks murderous. And Ryan? Ryan looks like she’d like to both fade into the wall beside her, and… kinda like she’d like to punch something, too. Fuck. He’s really fucked this up.

Another prolonged moment passes before Ryan speaks, her voice dull as she turns her attention to the back of Austin’s head. “Let him in.”

Just to make sure Tom knows how unwelcome he is Austin huffs out a hard breath through his nose before stepping aside, only moving enough to narrowly allow passage. Tom can all but feel the daggers within the other man’s glare as he sidesteps to sidle inside, gaining access to the condo.

The interior is luminous, spacious, and currently serving as a hard contrast to the person who decorated it. This isn’t the way he imagined he’d learn more about her.

Ryan. His feet were pretty much moving on autopilot after he’d squeezed past Austin. He wanted to see her place. Wanted to absorb every detail. But she didn’t head for the living room, where a quick glance aside confirms that there had been comfortably stuffed chairs, and a sofa. Ryan had disappeared into the kitchen. She went for the hard surfaces, the sturdy wooden kitchen chairs. Better to get it over with and get him out again, probably.

Tom clears his throat, the noise of Ryan dragging a chair along the linoleum floor hiding the sound. Now that he’s here, inside, and so close to her again, his heart has started hammering at a quicker pace. She let him in! She wanted to hear him out… does that mean there’s hope?

Austin waits at the threshold to the kitchen, watching Tom seat himself before nodding to Ryan, “Shout if you need me.” At Ryan’s nod Austin lingers, just long enough to makes sure that Tom sees the lingering stink-eye the other man gives him.

Again his heart lurches as the other man disappears from view. Who is Austin to Ryan? Friend? Something more? The words, tinged with a ruefulness he can’t hide, are out of Tom’s mouth before he can stop them. Not the question he’s dying to ask, but an observation. “Ok. So _he_ hates me.”

The answer is half-shouted from the other room: “ **Yeap**!”

Ryan blinks, rolling her eyes as a tight smile breaks through her attempt at a blank expression. A tear escapes, though she’s quick to swipe it off her cheek, as her eyes swivel back to focus on Tom again. “Why’d you come here?”

How had he wanted to play this? Where did he want to begin?

He’d meant to hand the envelope right back to her the moment he saw her, but then his hastily formed plan had been blown out of the water by a strange --- by Austin greeting him, if that cold reception could be considered a greeting --- by yet another unexpected turn of events.

Right. But he _is_ holding the envelope. Tom sets the now-slightly-bent sheath of papers on the portion of the curved table that extends partially between the pair of them, before looking back into those captivating green eyes of hers. True, it’s not the original envelope, but…

A light frown has settled onto her features, but then it falls away, Ryan’s expression taut with pain again though she’s clearly fighting like hell to keep it hidden.

The envelope is only half the answer, but it’s a place to start. “You can’t just. Write that. And then leave.”

Ryan puckers her lips, a sad smile appearing only as she looks away from his face, refocusing on the now-crumpled envelope he’s set between them. “Can’t I?”

Another tear escapes that she isn’t as quick to make vanish. Her mouth twitches, something else trying to become vocalized. He all but wills her to spit it out, but fights to suppress it. Biting back whatever it was cost her something, though. Another tear trails quickly down her cheek, her gaze steadfastly held down, as though the envelope is the only thing tying her to this moment in time.

Tom moves to reach out and touch her, maybe to tip his fingers onto the back of her hand – or gently touch her knee. But she stalls him out with a jerk of her hands, lifting suddenly from where she had previously held them loosely in her lap. Her unspoken desires are clear. **Don’t touch.**

She swipes the salty evidence of her unhappiness from her face with the edge of her sleeve. The tears are gone, cleared by the sudden action, but something else had left her face, too. The gentler aspects of her expression had fallen away.

Ryan sets her jaw, her face pinched as she retrains her dark green eyes on his face again. “You made it clear the alternative wasn’t…”

Her fresh attempt at a cold response breaks, and Ryan shifts her gaze up over his head – to the wall, to the ceiling – looking anywhere other than his face as her eyes well with tears again. Swallowing doesn’t seem to steady her much. Her lips twitch as she presses them together, fighting like hell to keep everything contained.

He’s really fucked this up. Fucked _them_ up. Fuck! How can he even begin to fix this?

“I know. I…” The moment he starts talking Ryan drops her gaze again. The moment their eyes lock his brain abruptly forgets how to string words into a sentence, and the all-too-familiar feeling settles in: she’s looking into the depths of him, at all the scarring, at the fucked-up man he’s constantly fighting to keep hidden from the world.

If she’s aware of her effect on him she hardly acknowledges it. Or maybe this is how she’s choosing to punish him. Letting him spill his secrets that he’s kept so closely guarded before she’ll speak again. Before telling him to get out. He’d deserve it, after the way he treated her.

Tom leans forward slightly, knowing he can’t try to reach out to touch her again, but wanting to make it clear that he’s not trying to shield any part of himself from her, not anymore. The unforgiving wooden chair creaks in protest beneath him with the shift of his weight. He gives a small shake of his head, his voice soft. “I don’t have a right to demand anything from you. Not after… After that night, and – and how I acted. Basically since day one, honestly.”

Tom pulls in a deep breath, internally bracing for the wave of pain that will surely follow everything that he’s about to unearth. He owes her this, no matter what the ride home will feel like. He owes Ryan this.

“I’ve fought, tooth and nail, to keep myself from – feeling too deeply again. Losing my parents. Which sounds so, so…” He fights against the spike of irritation at the thought. _Losing_ his parents, like they just wandered off. Not that they were there one minute and abruptly _gone_ the next. He drags the palm of his right hand over his upper thigh, focusing on the friction of his palm against the fabric of his jeans as he blinks under her unwavering gaze. “I guess – it’s been easier for me to blame the tourists that lost control on unfamiliar roads. That it’s _their_ fault our parents are dead. Easier to cast that same blame on every new face, every Summer Person, since. I was content. Hating the world. With forcing Tori and Gordon to drag me along and pretend that I was living.”

He straightens up in the chair, finding that poking and prodding the wound within him isn’t causing him as much pain as he thought it would. Will it come later? Once he finishes uttering this hard string of truths? When the look on Ryan’s face changes to pity? Wasn’t that what he was trying to avoid all along? The look of pity for the broken man who missed his parents so fiercely, felt their absence so strongly that he’d rather dwell in that stasis – remain surrounded in that pain – rather than move beyond it?

Except – except that’s not what he wants, anymore.

“But then you rented the old Johnson place. I wanted to hate you for it. For being another _tourist_ determined to… I, I tried to. For all the good it did me. You showed up at the lake and looked at me like – kinda like you are right now.”

That late summer day stirs in his mind, the day they spent out on Daisy Mae. He’d been sure then, just as he is now, that in one glance she had been able to sum him up, who he was – who he could be – and the expanse that rested between. Even faced with his initially surly manner, and the mood swings that left her puzzled, she’d never shied away. She had been patient, and kind, and willing to spend time with him, with the man he was slowly allowing himself to be… Up until he had shoved her away from him as hard as he could.

He takes a breath, stumbling on. “That night. Couldn’t handle hearing the woman I was fal—” He draws himself up short, not wanting to make things worse by telling her he was in love with her. How can you claim to love someone and be so cruel to them? That wasn’t love. Was it? “I couldn’t handle thinking that you’d laugh with a stranger over – about me. That I had fooled myself into thinking there was an _us_ , and that it, we, meant so little to you that you’d leave, or soon would’ve been. And it…”

He’d been so focused on trying to pry the words out, on focusing on those deep green eyes, rimmed in red, that it kind of startles him to realize that it isn’t just Ryan listening to him struggle through this.

Austin is standing at the edge of the room, his arms crossed over his chest. “Oh you absolute _bastard_.”

Tom blinks, lifting his chin as though the entirely deserved title had smacked him in the forehead.

Austin’s expression is somewhere between annoyed, angry, and amused. “She was talking to _me._ ”

It’s a revelation that hardly serves to clarify much of anything. Tom feels a deep ridge forming over his nose, a frown he doesn’t bother to fight. “To. You?”

Tom shifts his attention back to Ryan, hoping she might hold some answers, but she had hidden her face away in her hands. Odd that Austin was the one to stall out the, well, he can only consider it word vomit. Ryan had merely sat there, listening without giving any indication that she wanted to try to speak. No telling him off. No sighs. Nothing about how his reasons were all well and good, but hardly excused what he had done to her, how he had acted, or how deeply he had hurt her.

Is she so done with him that she can’t even speak to him?

But, as he searches for any indication of what she’s thinking he realizes she’s shaking. Her shoulders, arms – though they’re folded tightly against her body – maybe the way she’s breathing is making her whole body shake? Is she crying, again, or about to burst with anger – this close to throwing him out.

Maybe, maybe she’s waiting for Austin to do it.

Looking back at Austin only serves to unroot the other man from his position at the edge of the room. Tom turns as he tracks him, watching as Austin stalks through the small space, coming to a rigid standstill behind Ryan’s chair.

There’s that ill feeling, mingled with the first wave of pain stirred up from admitting to Ryan the truth about who he really is. Tom swallows the nausea down, and the swift pang of jealously, and longing, that makes itself known when Austin gives Ryan’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“You know the best thing about it, Tom? She was all excited. Telling me she’d already worked it out with her boss. How she was letting the lease end. About the place she’d found, but needed help with the move.” Austin snorts, his cheeks starting to tinge red. “All because she took a vacation. Picked a place on a whim, some lake in the middle of nowhere. And fell in goddamned love with some guy who lived up there. Who wouldn’t in a million years be able to leave, even though _her_ life, _her_ family, was here. Cause there – up there where she’d _never been before in her damn life_ – was _his_ home, where _he’d_ put down roots, and felt more like home to her than anywhere she’d ever been.”

Tom blinks. And then blinks again. Where previously his brain had been buzzing, his body had been tense and – and a little sick feeling – now there’s just… this huge lump of information has him stunned. He swallows, the action audible, and fights to force his brain to wrap itself around what’s going on.

He gives his head a light shake, squeezing both hands into fists before shaking the left one loose again, belatedly remembering that any such pressure to the tender spot on his palm is a bad idea. The heavy thud of his heart doesn’t help, if anything it’s making him more lightheaded. To try to steady himself he sets his hand down on top of the envelope, feeling the creases he caused, the resistance provided by her letter, and the deed to the place she had tried to leave in his care.

“I’m.” His voice sounds a little thick, his words halfway stuck in his throat. “Sorry. I’m… What?”

Ryan slides her hands down part of the way down her face, her fingertips pausing at the ridge of her cheekbones. Her face is bright pink. Was she crying? Laughing? Her eyes are wet again but… he can’t be sure. The rest of her face remains hidden.

Austin has hardly paused for breath. “What aren’t you getting? The part where you broke my cousin? Just like I said you would? Told her you were that type: wounded and happy to drag anybody down that tried to reach out and help.”

**Cousin**.

He can see it now, as he flicks his gaze quickly between the pair of them. Their coloring isn’t quite the same, but – there’s a similarity in the shape of their eyes. Austin’s are darker, bleeding into a deep, deceptive, blue. And maybe a little in the face? In the contours of their cheekbones, now that Ryan has dropped her hands a little more.

Cousins!

Other details start to bubble up from the depths, hitting him in a staggered fashion. She was planning on moving up there. To the lake. On working remotely, leaving the city behind.

As he continues to dart his eyes up and down, examining the pair of them, slowly feeling his anchor to time reestablishing itself, he realizes Ryan’s complexion has started to return to the splotchy-mottled look. She still hasn’t spoken a word, not that Austin is providing any opportunity for her to say anything, but she hasn’t asked for Tom’s departure, either.

Ryan wipes at her face with a dishrag, the happy yellow thing appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Austin had probably snagged it when he had stormed into the kitchen, and then passed it off to her while he was telling Tom off just a moment ago… But did it matter? To Tom it appeared as though by magic. Maybe it would work better than her shirtsleeves to wipe away the tears, the pain he had caused her. Maybe that cheery, bright thing works better than her shirtsleeves? Or maybe her sleeves are too damp to do much good.

He’s all but tuned Austin out now. Tuned out the long rant, still going, against his character as he watches Ryan’s every move. How she’s looking down at the bright yellow towel, as though she too were surprised by its presence or the garish color of the thing.

Tom’s fingers itch to take the damn thing from her, to reach out and force her to look up at him. He tightens his hold on the crinkled envelope, trying to draw strength from it. It was the same blow that reading the letter had dealt, that the deed to Charlie Mann’s place had dealt. Because she was intending on joining the lakeside community, becoming a resident, but then he’d been surly, and cruel, and told her to…

If she’d just look up. Austin can tell him off, can waste as much breath as he wants telling Tom to leave, but – he needs to hear it from her. If she wants him gone, well, he’ll go. He’ll leave the deed to her place, of course. Maybe get Tori to reach out once things have cooled a little more. Cause they can’t. They honest to God can’t afford to buy it off her. He’ll tuck tail and let Tori figure out things, cause he can’t fathom having to try to pretend that his heart can stand the mention of –

Ryan sits straighter in her chair, lifting her chin in a sharp motion, as though she’d heard his internal pleas for a response from her. Her eyes fix first on his torso, landing a dagger like strike that makes him sway. It’s not until their eyes meet, emerald to cerulean, that the full force of the blow lands and slams him back in his seat, back colliding with force against the back of the chair.

She loved him. _Loves_ him. Damaged, broken, fuckup of a human being that he is. Tom blinks rapidly, lifting his eyebrows at the woman who should by all rights be cursing him out – rather than allowing that honor to go to the cousin standing at her shoulder – maybe cursing him out, and giving him that horrible look of pity that he so dreaded.

But that’s not what she’s doing. Somehow this marvel of a human being is looking at him with kindness. Her shoulders shake, and the edges of her mouth turn up into a smile. A smile! It almost steals Tom’s breath.

“ _Alright_ , Austin.” Ryan blinks, her eyes remaining locked on Tom though the action once again sends tears cascading over her cheeks. “We get it.” She’s – she’s back to crying again, but these are tears joined by a light, hiccoughing laugh. “I know you’re pissed that you just watched me fall apart and force-fed me three pints of ice cream. But…. Can you please give us some space?”


	13. The Culler Place

****

**H** e shouldn’t be enjoying this quite so much, and he knows it, but it’s only the eighth straight day of torrential rain and Ryan is about to go out of her skin. He’s all but sure, now, that she only survived the winter by migrating back and forth between here – her lakeside home – and crashing with friends in the city.

Cell reception went out yesterday, which is partially to blame for her current state. Lines to the closest tower probably got taken out by some trees. Soggy as the ground is, it’s actually a little surprising there are still safe routes in and out of their lakeside community.

There was that brief respite this morning, when she realized she had a few spreadsheets saved to her laptop that she could finish out… but now those are done and she’s itching for something to do. She’s been bumping around inside, circling back to her laptop like a homing pigeon to check and see if anything has changed with the internet connection.

He’s given up on trying to talk her out of doing that.

To steer clear of the pacing, and the sighing, he’s retreated out onto her porch, sheltered from the rain by the overhang. Her deck chairs aren’t like those at the old Johnson place, no rockers to lull you back and forth, so he’s tilted himself back onto the hind legs of the furniture. Took him about as long to find his center of balance as it did for her to complete those spreadsheets. Also has the heel of one bare foot anchored to the porch rail, just to make sure he doesn’t go sprawling, the other leg hooked up over his extended knee.

When it gets a little closer to noon he’ll give up reading the well-thumbed book in his hands and go check on Ryan. See if she’s ready to venture out for some food. They’d been invited over to visit with Tori, on bed rest in the later stages of the pregnancy.

Also would be a good chance to stop by his house, check and make sure Daisy Mae is alright. Grab a few more pairs of the essentials he’s starting to run out of. Wasn’t really planning on spending the past few days at Ryan’s. That sorta – happened.

Not that he’s complaining.

He’d be fooling himself to say that he resists her at all. That twinkle of mischief in those green eyes? The way she purses her lips together, just slightly askew, and crinkles her nose? And definitely when she flips her hair and laughs, beckoning for him to follow.

Their vow to take things slow once she moved back to the lake fell apart the day he’d brained himself while trying to fix the plumbing under her kitchen sink. She’d gone to look over the store’s books with Tori, returning sooner than he’d expected. Seeing double for a few minutes was well worth it, in the end.

Tom blinks, smiling to himself when he realizes he’s been re-reading this same set of pages over and over again. Or was he even reading them at all? Sometimes it’s just more fun to let his mind wander naturally back to his favorite thing to think about: Ryan.

Slowly he rearranges himself and lowers his chair to return all four of its legs to the ground. His watch and phone were inside, still on the bedside table where he’d put them the night before. With the cloud cover there was no sun to help his estimation of the time, but if his stomach was any indication… He thumps the book closed as he glances back towards the house, intent on getting up to check on Ryan – only to find her standing, framed by the screen door, watching him.

“How are you so relaxed right now?”

He examines her posture, arms folded over her chest. Still about to go out of her mind for lack of something work related to do. Tom shifts to let the book thump down onto the boards, landing somewhere behind his chair as he offers her a one shouldered shrug, “How are you not?”

Ryan counters his question to a question, scowling at his contented smile, “I asked first.”

Tom lets loose a low chuckle, beckoning her to him. When she doesn’t budge, he stretches sideways to tip the screen door open with his fingers. “C’mere. Come sit with me a minute.”

She almost lets the screen door whap back into place but catches it just before he has to. The look she’s giving him is something he firmly categorizes as ‘uncertain’ as she takes a few reluctant steps towards him. Who is to say he’s the only one powerless to resist the charms of the other. “Please tell me you don’t want me to sit and watch the rain.”

“Actually,” he stands to be able to snare her hand and scoop her to him. She probably thinks he’s going for a kiss, but instead he spins her, planting her in the chair he’d just gotten up from, “Yes. I do.”

“Oh, Tom. Really?” She breathes out a tone of exasperation, watching him squat down next to her. When he nods in response she sighs, settling to sit more squarely in the chair, and crossing her ankles as she does that thing he loves so much where she scrunches up her nose.

He laughs, steadying himself by wrapping one arm behind the chair. “No. Not like that. Relax a bit.”

It nets him a cocked eyebrow in a sideways glance, but she does as asked and shifts a bit in the seat. Tom finally gives up, reaching up with his free hand to rock her body back and forth using her shoulder.

“Loosen up, Ry. Relax. Ok… ok… yea, a little better.” He grins at the smile she’s trying to keep hidden, and she finally settles her shoulders down, releasing that last bit of tension. “Good. Now. Close your eyes. Close them. And breathe, just breathe and listen to the rain hitting the water. Listen to it beating down on the roof over our heads. The way the sounds differ. Water on water, compared to water on wood.”

He waits, ready for her snarky response, but she doesn’t throw a quip back. Remaining quiet is a good thing, probably. His focus drifts down from her face, trailing down to her feet before drifting further, a gentle smile on his lips. The rain soaked deck doesn’t extend out quite as far over the water as that of the Johnson place, but Charlie Mann had never been that big on boats. Since Ryan doesn’t have a boat of her own it tends to work out for them. There’s a place for Daisy Mae, if needed.

“You really enjoy this, don’t you.”

Blinking, he looks back at her to find that she’s peeking an eye open, a sliver of green visible while the other eyelid remains squeezed shut. He shifts the book around so he can reposition himself and settle one knee down onto it’s cover. “Well. Yes.”

Ryan turns halfway in the chair, both emerald eyes honing in on him. “I don’t get it! I’m…”

“Restless.” He nods, reaching out to give her knees a squeeze before swiveling her back so she’s facing the water again. “I can tell. Um. Try this. What do you see, when you look out there?”

“Water.”

Her deadpan response makes him grin, wanting to abandon this and find other ways of getting her to relax. “Alright. What else?”

“I don’t – um. Grayness.” She runs her fingers over the hand that he’s clasped over her knees. “Mold?”

This time he doesn’t bother trying to contain the laugh. There’s no suppressing it as he shakes his head. “Mold?”

Though one hand has come to rest over his wrist, she thrums the fingers of her other hand over his knuckles. “What do _you_ see, then?”

Tom adjusts the way he’s kneeling, twisting his torso so he, too, is looking out at the water rather than fully facing her. Just as she had taken a moment to quietly study, he contemplates his answer. “I see – the restless surface of the lake as the rain falls. And the shine of the pier. And the deep tones, to pretty much everything.”

She’s tracing light circles over his wrist bone but remains quiet, seemingly searching out what he’s trying to verbalize. If he were to check he’s certain she currently has that same look on her face that she’s prone to fixing on him, the one where he feels like she’s looking deep within him.

Buoyed, he muddles on, “It’s not just what I see, though. It’s the feeling of the lake right now. Even though the water is churning up because of the storm, there’s a sort of calm to it. Nobody out there, see? Under the water, fish are still going about their business. And in the woods, too. But hardly any human interference. Well,” he looses a wry grin, suddenly remembering why he was going to check on her in the first place. “At least for the past few days. Probably like the truck better than when I boat around on Daisy Mae.”

Ryan’s hand wraps more securely around his wrist before drifting up towards his elbow. She wriggles one knee loose from his grasp so she can better turn towards him. “Missing her?”

Tom tips his head back, meeting Ryan’s gaze as he squares his torso to her again. “Maybe a little.”

Her eyes search his face for a moment and then she tilts her head to the side. “Have you really only named your boat, and not your truck?” Her thoughtful expression turns suspicious as she straightens in her seat again and narrows her eyes at him. “Or are you refusing to tell me.”

“The truck _did_ help me come save a damsel in distress from a rainy day… Might need to consider naming it, too.”

That takes her a second, and then her eyebrows lift as she laughs, “I’m a damsel in distress, now?”

Tom stands, pulling her up from her chair in the same motion. They need to get going – or at least pretend like they’re going to go in and snag their things before dashing out to his truck. Tori might accept a late lunch or early dinner in lieu of the promised noontime visit… so long as they stay over at his place for the next several days.

He’d been trying to keep his hands in chaste locations, on Ryan’s knees, briefly touching her shoulder, but even then he’d felt the charge of attraction. He’s yet to discover a portion of her body that didn’t have that effect on him. He drifts his hands down to her waist, feeling the fabric of her shirt bunch beneath his fingers as he pulls Ryan closer, “You _did_ sound a little panicked when you called the other day.”


	14. [For those seeking a little more]

Want to know how Tom gets Ryan to stay up at the lake for the duration of the winter? He enlists help from the sweetest little pup at the local shelter. Four legged friends are the best, and he kind of ends up wondering why he waited so long to adopt a pet. 

It takes another two seasons before Ryan can convince Tom to upgrade his truck. Daisy Mae was where he’d previously spent his money. Daisy Mae, and the business, at any rate. So the truck was a little battered. When you’re hauling supplies around the lake what does it matter? What really helps Ryan’s case is simply the fact that Gordon and Tori are intent on  _at least_ having both a boy and a girl, and it’s all but impossible to ferry any more than three people - or two people and a dog - around in Tom’s old green truck. 

And, well, after Tori all but ruined the wedding dress Tom had bought her, you’d think that for his own wedding he might have pushed for a different venue. Someplace where no one in the wedding party would get tempted, from happiness or after a few drinks, to take a plunge. But it was their home, that lake, so why on earth not? 


End file.
